ARY  STACKS 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
AT   LOS  ANGELES 


MY    LIFE 


BY 


RICHARD  WAGNER 


IN  TWO  VOLUMES 

VOL.  I 


AUTHORIZED   TRANSLATION   FROM   THE  GERMAN 


NEW   YORK 

DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
1911 

IS 


COPYRIGHT,   1911, 
BT  F.  BUUCKMANN,  LTD.,  MUNCHEN 

COPTBIGHT,   1911, 

BY  DODD,  MEAD  AND  COMPANY 
Published,  June,  1911 

All  rightt  reserved. 


4 


wivm 

I/.  I 


PREFACE 

THE  contents  of  these  volumes  have  been  written  down  directly 
from  my  dictation,  over  a  period  of  several  years,  by  my  friend 
and  wife,  who  wished  me  to  tell  her  the  story  of  my  life.     It 
was  the  desire  of  both  of  us  that  these   details   of  my  life 
should  be   accessible   to   our  family  and   to   our  sincere  and 
trusted  friends ;  and  we  decided  therefore,  in  order  to  provide 
against  a  possible  destruction  of  the  one  manuscript,  to  have 
a  small  number  of  copies  printed  at  our  own  expense.     As  the 
value  of  this  autobiography  consists  in  its  unadorned  veracity, 
which,  under  the  circumstances,  is  its  only  justification,  there- 
DC  accompanied  by  precise  names  and 
be  no  question  of  their  publication 
death,  should  interest  in  them  still 
.  ,  and  on  that  point  I  intend  leaving 
/ill 

do  not  refuse  certain  intimate  friends 
w,  it  is  that,  relying  on  their  genuine 
i  are  confident  that  they  will  not  pass 
•who  do  not  share  *their  feelings  in 

RICHARD  WAGNER. 


•;:  :•:•: 
'•  y : .:l :':  :  '••'  *'' 


CONTENTS 

PART  I.    1813-1842 

PAGES 

CHILDHOOD  AND  SCHOOLDAYS 1-53 

MUSICAL  STUDIES 53-89 

TRAVELS  IN  GERMANY  (FIRST  MARRIAGE) 89-195 

PARIS:  1839-42 195-264 

PART  II.    1842-1850  (DRESDEN) 

'RIENZI' 265-285 

'THE  FLYING  DUTCHMAN' 285-321 

LISZT,  SPONTINI,  MARSCHNER,  ETC 321-363 

«  TANNHAUSER  ' 363-383 

FRANCK,  SCHUMANN,  SEMPER,  GUTZKOW,  AUERBACH   .     .     .  383-393 

'LOHENGRIN'  (LIBRETTO) 393-397 

NINTH  SYMPHONY 397-403 

SPOHR,  GLUCK,  HILLER,  DEVRIENT 403-412 

OFFICIAL  POSITION.     STUDIES  IN  HISTORICAL  LITERATURE     .  412-417 

'RIENZI'  AT  BERLIN 417-429 

RELATIONS  WITH  THE  MANAGEMENT,  MOTHER'S  DEATH,  ETC.  429-439 

GROWING  SYMPATHY  WITH  POLITICAL  EVENTS,  BAKUNIN  .     .  439-472 

THE  MAY  INSURRECTION 472-500 

FLIGHT  :  WEIMAR,  ZURICH,  PARIS,  BORDEAUX,  GENEVA,  ZURICH  500-543 


vii 


• 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

FRONTISPIECE  FOR  VOLUME  I 
Richard  Wagner  in  1842,  from  the  Portrait  by  E.  Kietz. 

FRONTISPIECE  FOR  VOLUME  II 
Richard  Wagner  about  1872  by  Lenbach. 

Original  in  the  possession  of  Frau  Cosima  Wagner 
These  frontispieces  are  used  by  the  courtesy  of  Mr.  F.  Bruckmann 


MY  LIFE 

PAKT   I 
1813-1842 

I  WAS  horn  at  Leipzig  on  the  22nd  of  May  1813,  in  a  room  on 
the  second  floor  of  the  '  Eed  and  White  Lion,'  and  two  days 
later  was  baptized  at  St.  Thomas's  Church,  and  christened 
Wilhelm  Richard. 

My  father,  Friejirich^^WagnerLwas  at  the  time  of  my  birth 
a  clerk  in  the  police  service  at  Leipzig,  and  hoped  to  get 
the  post  of  Chief  Constable  in  that  town,  but  he  died  in  the 
October  of  that  same  year.  His  death  was  partly  due  to  the 
great  exertions  imposed  upon  him  by  the  stress  of  police  work 
during  the  war  troubles  and  the  battle  of  Leipzig,  and  partly 
to  the  fact  that  he  fell  a  victim  to  the  nervous  fever  which 
was  raging  at  that  time.  As  regards  his  father's  position  in 
life,  I  learnt  later  that  he  had  held  a  small  civil  appointment 
as  toll  collector  at  the  Ranstadt  Gate,  but  had  distinguished 
himself  from  those  in  the  same  station  by  giving  his  two  sons 
a  superior  education,  my  father,  Friedrich,  studying  law,  and 
the  younger  son,  Adolph,  theology. 

My  uncle  subsequently  exercised  no  small  influence  on  ,my 
development;  we  shall  meet  him  again  at  a  critical  turning- 
point  in  the  story  of  my  youth. 

My  father,  whom  I  had  lost  so  early,  was,  as  I  discovered 
afterwards,  a  great  lover  of  poetry  and  literature  in  general, 
and  possessed  in  particular  an  almost  passionate  affection  for 
the  drama,  which  was  at  that  time  much  in  vogue  among  the 
educated  classes.  My  mother  told  me,  among  other  things, 
that  he  took  her  to  Lauchstadt  for  the  first  performance  of  the 
Braut  von  Messina,  and  that  on  the  promenade  he  pointed  out 
Schiller  and  Goethe  to  her,  and  reproved  her  warmly  for  never 
having  heard  of  these  great  men.  He  is  said  to  have  been  not 


2  MY   LIFE 

altogether  free  from  a  gallant  interest  in  actresses.  My  mother 
used  to  complain  jokingly  that  she  often  had  to  keep  lunch 
waiting  for  him  while  he  was  paying  court  to  a  certain  famous 
\  actress  of  the  day.1  When  she  scolded  him,  he  vowed  that 
he  had  been  delayed  by  papers  that  had  to  be  attended  to, 
and  as  a  proof  of  his  assertion  pointed  to  his  fingers,  which  were 
supposed  to  be  stained  with  ink,  but  on  closer  inspection  were 
found  to  be  quite  clean.  His  great^£QDdneas.-ioj^tbe  .theatre 
was  further  shown  by  his  choice  of  the  actor,  Ludwig  Geyer, 
as  one  of  his  intimate  friends.  Although  his  choice  of  this 
friend  was  no  doubt  mainly  due  to  his  love  for  the  theatre,  he 
at  the  same  time  introduced  into  his  family  the  noblest  of 
benefactors;  for  this  modest  artisit,  prompted  by  a  warm 
interest  in  the  lot  of  his  friend's  large  family,  so  unexpectedly 
left  destitute,  devoted  the  remainder  of  his  life  to  making 
strenuous  efforts  to  maintain  and  educate  the  orphans.  Even 
J  when  the  police  official  was  spending  his  evenings  at  the  theatre, 
the  worthy  actor  generally  filled  his  place  in  the  family  circle, 
and  it  seems  had  frequently  to  appease  my  mother,  who, 
rightly  or  wrongly,  complained  of  the  frivolity  of  her  husband. 

How  deeply  the  homeless  artist,  hard  pressed  by  life  and 
tossed  to  and  fro,  longed  to  feel  himself  at  home  in  a  sympa- 
thetic family  circle,  was  proved  by  the  fact  that  a  year  after 
his  friend's  death  he  married  his  widow,  and  from  that  time 
forward  became  a  most  loving  father  to  the  seven  children  that 
had  been  left  behind. 

In  this  onerous  undertaking  he  was  favoured  by  an  unex- 
pected improvement  in  his  position,  for  he  obtained  a  remuner- 
ative, respectable,  and  permanent  engagement,  as  a  character 
actor,  at  the  newly  established  Court  Theatre  in  Dresden. 
His  talent  for  painting,  which  had  already  helped  him  to  earn 
a  livelihood  when  forced  by  extreme  poverty  to  break  off  his 
university  studies,  again  stood  him  in  good  stead  in  his  position 
at  Dresden.  True,  he  complained  even  more  than  his  critics 
that  he  had  been  kept  from  a  regular  and  systematic  study  of 
this  art,  yet  his  extraordinary  aptitude,  for  portrait  painting 
in  particular,  secured  him  such  important  commissions  that 
he  unfortunately  exhausted  his  strength  prematurely  by  his 
1  Madame  Hartwig. 


MOVE  TO  DRESDEN.     RICHARD    'GEYER'       3 

twofold  exertions  as  painter  and  actor.  Once,  when  he  was 
invited  to  Munich  to  fulfil  a  temporary  engagement  at  the  Court 
Theatre,  he  received,  through  the  distinguished  recommendation 
of  the  Saxon  Court,  such  pressing  commissions  from  the  Bava- 
rian Court  for  portraits  of  the  royal  family  that  he  thought  it 
wise  to  cancel  his  contract  altogether.  He  also  had  a  turn  for 
poetry.  Besides  fragments  —  often  in  very  dainty  verse  —  he 
wrote  several  comedies,  one  of  which,  Der  Bethlehemitische 
Kindermord,  in  rhymed  Alexandrines,  was  often  performed; 
it  was  published  and  received  the  warmest  praise  from  Goethe. 

This  excellent  man,  under  whose  care  our  family  moved  to 
Dresden  when  I  was  two  years  old,  and  by  whom  my  mother 
had  another  daughter,  Cecilia,  now  also  took  my  education  in 
hand  with  the  greatest  care  and  affection.  He  wished  to 
adopt  me  altogether,  and  accordingly,  when  I  was  sent  to  my? 
first  school,  he  gave  me  his  own  name,  so  that  till  the  age  of 
fourteen  I  was  known  to  my  Dresden  schoolfellows  as  Richard 
Geyer;  and  it  was  not  until  some  years  after  my  stepfather's 
death,  and  on  my  family's  return  to  Leipzig,  the  home  of  my 
own  kith  and  kin,  that  I  resumed  the  name  of  Wagner. 

The  earliest  recollections  of  my  childhood  are  associated  with 
my  stepfather,  and  passed  from  him  to  the  theatre.  I  well  | 
remember  that  he  would  have  liked  to  see  me  develop  a  talent 
for  painting;  and  his  studio,  with  the  easel  and  the  pictures  I 
upon  it,  did  not  fail  to  impress  me.  I  remember  in  particular 
that  I  tried,  with  a  childish  love  of  imitation,  to  copy  a  portrait 
of  King  Frederick  Augustus  of  Saxony;  but  when  this  simple 
daubing  had  to  give  place  to  a  serious.,study  of  drawing^!  could 
not  stand  it,  possibly  because  I  was<3Tscouraged  by  the 
pedantic  technique  of  my  teacher,  a  cousin  of  mine,  who  was 
rather  a  bore.  At  one  time  during.my  early  boyhood  I  became 
so  weak  after  some  childish  ailment  that  my  mother  told  me 
later  she  used  almost  to  wish  me  dead,  for  it  seemed  as  though 
I  should  never  get  well.  However,  my  subsequent  good  health  \ 
apparently  astonished  my  parents.  I  afterwards  learnt  the 
noble  part  played  by  my  excellent  stepfather  on  this  occasion 
also;  he  never  gave  way  to  despair,  in  spite  of  the  cares  and 
troubles  of  so  large  a  family,  but  remained  patient  through- 
out, and  never  lost  the  hope  of  pulling  me  through  safely. 


4  MY   LIFE 

My  imagination  at  this  time  was  deeply  impressed  by  my 
acquaintance  with  the  theatre,  with  which  I  was  brought  into 
contact,  not  only  as  a  childish  spectator  from  the  mysterious 
stagebox,  with  its  access  to  the  stage,  and  by  visits  to  ^  the 
wardrobe  with  its  fantastic  costumes,  wigs  and  other  disguises, 
but  also  by  taking  a  part  in  the  performances  myself.  After 
I  had  been  filled  with  fear  by  seeing  my  father  play  the  villain's 
part  in  such  tragedies  as  Die  Waise  und  der  Morder,  Die  leiden 
Galeerensklaven,  I  occasionally  took  part  in  comedy.  I  re- 
member that  I  appeared  in  Der  Weinberg  an  der  Elbe,  a  piece 
specially  written  to  welcome  the  King  of  Saxony  on  his  return 
from  captivity,  with  music  by  the  conductor,  C.  M.  von  Weber. 
In  this  I  figured  in  a  tableau  vivant  as  an  angel,  sewn  up  in 
tights  with  wings  on  my  back,  in  a  graceful  pose  which  I  had 
laboriously  practised.  I  also  remember  on  this  occasion  being 
given  a  big  iced  cake,  which  I  was  assured  the  King  had 
intended  for  me  personally.  Lastly,  I  can  recall  taking  a 
child's  part  in  which  I  had  a  few  words  to  speak  in  Kotzebue's 
Menschenhass  und  Reue,1  which  'furnished  me  with  an  excuse 

[  at  school  for  not  having  learnt  my  lessons.  I  said  I  had  too 
much  to  do,  as  I  had  to  learn  by  heart  an  important  part  in 
Den  Menschen  ausser  der  Reihe.2 

On  the  other  hand,  to  show  how  seriously  my  father  regarded 
my  education,  when  I  was  six  years  old  he  took  me  to  a  clergy- 
man in  the  country  at  Possendorf,  near  Dresden,  where  I  was 

-  to  be  given  a  sound  and  healthy  training  with  other  boys 
of  my  own  class.  In  the  evening,  the  vicar,  whose  name 
was  Wetzel,  used  to  tell  us  the  story  of  Robinson  Crusoe, 
and  discuss  it  with  us  in  a  highly  instructive  manner.  I 
was,  moreover,  much  impressed  by  a  biography  of  Mozart 
which  was  read  aloud;  and  the  newspaper  accounts  and 
monthly  reports  of  the  events  of  the  Greek  War  of  Independ- 
ence stirred  my  imagination  deeply.  My  love  for  Greece, 
which  afterwards  made  me  turn  with  enthusiasm  to  the  myth- 
ology and  history  of  ancient  Hellas,  was  thus  the  natural 
outcome  of  the  intense  and  painful  interest  I  took  in  the 

1  '  Misanthropy  and  Remorse.' 

1  '  The  Man  out  of  the  Rank  or  Row.'  In  the  German  this  is  a  simple 
phonetic  corruption  of  Kotzebue's  title,  which  might  easily  occur  to  a  child 
who  had  only  heard,  and  not  read,  that  title.  — EDITOB. 


GEYER'S  DEATH.     JOURNEY  TO  EISLEBEN     5 

events  of  this  period.  In  after  years  the  story  of  the  struggle 
of  the  Greeks  against  the  Persians  always  revived  my  impres- 
sions of  this  modern  revolt  of  Greece  against  the  Turks. 

One  day,  when  I  had  been  in  this  country  home  scarcely  a 
year,  a  messenger  came  from  town  to  ask  the  vicar  to  take  me 
to  my  parents'  house  in  Dresden,  as  my  father  was  dying. 

We  did  the  three  hours'  journey  on  foot;  and  as  I  was  very 
exhausted  when  I  arrived,  I  scarcely  understood  why  my 
mother  was  crying.  The  next  day  I  was  taken  to  my  father's 
bedside;  the  extreme  weakness  with  which  he  spoke  to  me, 
combined  with  all  the  precautions  taken  in  the  last  desperate 
treatment  of  his  complaint  —  acute  hydrothorax  —  made  the 
whole  scene  appear  like  a  dream  to  me,  and  I  think  I  was  too 
frightened  and  surprised  to  cry. 

In  the  next  room  my  mother  asked  me  to  show  her  what  I 
could  play  on  the  piano,  wisely  hoping  to  divert  my  father's 
thoughts  by  the  sound.  I  played  Ueb'  immer  Treu  und 
Redlichkeitj  and  my  father  said  to  her,  '  Is  it  possible  he 
has  musical  talent  ? ' 

In  the  early  hours  of  the  next  morning  my  mother  came 
into  the  great  night  nursery,  and,  standing  by  the  bedside  of 
each  of  us  in  turn,  told  us,  with  sobs,  that  our  father  was  dead, 
and  gave  us  each  a  message  with  his  blessing.  To  me  she 
said,  '  He  hoped  to  make,  something  of  you.' 

In  the  afternoon  my  schoolmaster,  Wetzel,  came  to  take 
me  back  to  the  country.  We  walked  the  whole  way  to  Possen- 
dorf,  arriving  at  nightfall.  On  the  way  I  asked  him  many 
questions  about  the  stars,  of  which  he  gave  me  my  first  intelli- 
gent idea. 

A  week  later  my  stepfather's  brother  arrived  from  Eisleben 
for  the  funeral.  He  promised,  as  far  as  he  was  able,  to  support 
the  family,  which  was  now  once  more  destitute,  and  undertook 
to  provide  for  my  future  education. 

I  took  leave  of  my  companions  and  of  the  kind-hearted 
clergyman,  and  it  was  for  his  funeral  that  I  paid  my  next  visit 
to  Possendorf  a  few  years  later.  I  did  not  go  to  the  place 
again  till  long  afterwards,  when  I  visited  it  on  an  excursion 
such  as  I  often  made,  far  into  the  country,  at  the  time  when  I 
was  conducting  the  orchestra  in  Dresden.  I  was  much  grieved 


6  MY   LIFE 

not  to  find  the  old  parsonage  still  there,  but  in  its  place  a  more 
pretentious  modern  structure,  which  so  turned  me  against  the 
locality,  that  thenceforward  my  excursions  were  always  made 
in  another  direction. 

This  time  my  uncle  brought  me  back  to  Dresden  in  the 
carriage.  I  found  my  mother  and  sister  in  the  deepest  mourn- 
ing, and  remember  being  received  for  the  first  time  with  a 
n-U'lrnii'—  not  usual  in  our  family;  and  I  noticed  that  the  same 
trmlrrm-<  marked  our  leavetaking,  when,  a  few  days  later, 
my  uncle  took  me  with  him  to  Eisleben. 

This  uncle,  who  was  a  younger  brother  of  my  stepfather, 
had  settled  there  as  a  goldsmith,  and  Julius,  one  of  my  elder 
brothers,  had  already  been  apprenticed  to  him.  Our  old 
grandmother  also  lived  with  this  bachelor  son,  and  as  it  was 
evident  that  she  could  not  live  long,  she  was  not  informed  of 
the  death  of  her  eldest  son,  which  I,  too,  was  bidden  to  keep 
to  myself.  The  servant  carefully  removed  the  crape  from  my 
coat,  telling  me  she  would  keep  it  until  my  grandmother  died, 
which  was  likely  to  be  soon. 

I  was  now  often  called  upon  to  tell  her  about  my  father,  and 
it  was  no  great  difficulty  for  me  to  keep  the  secret  of  his  death, 
as  I  had  scarcely  realised  it  myself.  She  lived  in  a  dark  back 
room  looking  out  upon  a  narrow  courtyard,  and  took  a  great 
delight  in  watching  the  robins  that  fluttered  freely  about  her, 
and  for  which  she  always  kept  fresh  green  boughs  by  the 
stove.  When  some  of  these  robins  were  killed  by  the  cat,  I 
managed  to  catch  others  for  her  in  the  neighbourhood,  which 
pleased  her  very  much,  and,  in  return,  she  kept  me  tidy  and 
clean.  Her  death,  as  had  been  expected,  took  place  before 
long,  and  the  crape  that  had  been  put  away  was  now  openly 
worn  in  Eisleben. 

The  back  room,  with  its  robins  and  green  branches,  now 
knew  me  no  more,  but  I  soon  made  myself  at  home  with  a 
Axap-boiler's  family,  to  whom  the  house  belonged,  and  became 
popular  with  them  on  account  of  the  stories  I  told  them. 

I  was  sent  to  a  private  school  kept  by  a  man  called  Weiss, 
who  left  an  impression  <>f  -rravity  and  dignity  upon  my  mind. 

Towards  the  end  ..f  tlic  fifties  I  was  greatly  moved  at  reading 
in  a.  musical  paper  the  account  of  a  concert  at  Eisleben,  con- 


RETURN  TO  LEIPZIG  7 

sist  )arts  of  Tanrih'duser,  at  which  my  former  master, 

\vh  >t  forgotten  his  young  pupil,  had  been  present. 

e  old  town  with  Luther's  house,  and  the  numberless 
memorials  it  contained  of  his  stay  there,  has  often,  in  later 
days,  come  back  to  me  in  dreams.  I  have  always  wished  to 
revisit  it  and  verify  the  clearness  of  my  recollections,  but, 
strange  to  say,  it  has  never  been  my  fate  to  do  so.  We  lived 
in  the  market-place,  where  I  was  often  entertained  by  strange 
sights,  such,  for  instance,  as  performances  by  a  troupe  of 
acrobats,  in  which  a  man  walked  a  rope  stretched  from  tower 
to  tower  across  the  square,  an  achievement  which  long  inspired 
me  with  a  passion  for  such  feats  of  daring.  Indeed,  I  got  so 
far  as  to  walk  a  rope  fairly  easily  myself  with  the  help  of  a 
balancing-pole.  I  had  made  the  rope  out  of  cords  twisted 
together  and  stretched  across  the  courtyard,  and  even  now  I 
still  feel  a  desire  to  gratify  my  acrobatic  instincts.  The  thing 
that  attracted  me  most,  however,  was  the  brass  band  of  a 
Hussar  regiment  quartered  at  Eisleben.  It  often  played  a 
certain  piece  which  had  just  come  out,  and  which  was  making 
a  great  sensation,  I  mean  the  '  Huntsmen's  Chorus '  out  of  the 
Freischuiz,  that  had  been  recently  performed  at  the  Opera  in 
Berlin.  My  uncle  and  brother  asked  me  eagerly  about  its  com- 
poser, Weber,  whom  I  must  have  seen  at  my  parents'  house 
in  Dresden,  when  he  was  conductor  of  the  orchestra  there. 

About  the  same  time  the  Jungfernkranz  was  zealously 
played  and  sung  by  some  friends  who  lived  near  us.  These 
two  pieces  cured  me  of  my  weakness  for  the  '  Ypsilanti ' 
Waltz,  which  till  that  time  I  had  regarded  as  the  most  won- 
derful of  compositions. 

I  have  recollections  of  frequent  tussles  with  the  town  boys, 
who  were  constantly  mocking  at  me  for  my  '  square '  cap ;  and 
I  remember,  too,  that  I  was  very  fond  of  rambles  of  adventure 
among  the  rocky  banks  of  the  Unstrut. 

My  uncle's  marriage  late  in  life,  and  the  starting  of  his  new 
home,  brought  about  a  marked  alteration  in  his  relations  to 
my  family. 

After  a  lapse  of  a  year  I  was  taken  by  him  to  Leipzig, 
and  handed  over  for  some  days  to  the  Wagners,  my  own 
father's  relatives,  consisting  of  my  uncle  Adolph  and  his  sister 


8  MY   LIFE 

Frioderike  Wagner.  This  extraordinarily  interesting  man, 
whose  influence  afterwards  became  ever  more  stimulating  to 
me.  now  for  the  first  time  brought  himself  and  his  singular 
c  ii \  ironment  into  my  life. 

He  and  my  aunt  were  very  close  friends  of  Jeannette  Thome, 
a  queer  old  maid  who  shared  with  them  a  large  house  in  the 
market-place,  in  which,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  Electoral 
family  of  Saxony  had,  ever  since  the  days  of  Augustus  the 
Strong,  hired  and  furnished  the  two  principal  storeys  for  their 
own  use  whenever  they  were  in  Leipzig. 

So  far  as  I  know,  Jeannette  Thome  really  owned  the  second 
storey,  of  which  she  inhabited  only  a  modest  apartment  look- 
ing out  on  the  courtyard.  As,  however,  the  King  merely 
occupied  the  hired  rooms  for  a  few  days  in  the  year,  Jeannette 
and  her  circle  generally  made  use  of  his  splendid  apartments, 
and  one  of  these  staterooms  was  made  into  a  bedroom  for  me. 

The  decorations  and  fittings  of  these  rooms  also  dated  from 
the  days  of  Augustus  the  Strong.  They  were  luxurious  with 
heavy  silk  and  rich  rococo  furniture,  all  of  which  were  much 
soiled  with  age.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  was  delighted  by  these 
large  strange  rooms,  looking  out  upon  the  bustling  Leipzig 
market-place,  where  I  loved  above  all  to  watch  the  students 
in  the  crowd  making  their  way  along  in  their  old-fashioned 
'  Club  '  attire,  and  filling  up  the  whole  width  of  the  street. 

There  was  only  one  portion  of  the  decorations  of  the  rooms 
that  I  thoroughly  disliked,  and  this  consisted  of  the  various 
portraits,  but  particularly  those  of  high-born  dames  in  hooped 
petticoats,  with  youthful  faces  and  powdered  hair.  These 
appeared  to  me  exactly  like  ghosts,  who,  when  I  was  alone  in 
the  room,  seemed  to  come  back  to  life,  and  filled  me  with  the 
most  abject  fear.  To  sleep  alone  in  this  distant  chamber, 
in  that  old-fashioned  bed  of  state,  beneath  those  unearthly 
pictures,  was  a  constant  terror  to  me.  It  is  true  I  tried  to  hide 
my  fear  from  my  aunt  when  she  lighted  me  to  bed  in  the 
evening  with  her  candle,  but  never  a  night  passed  in  which  I 
was  not  a  prey  to  the  most  horrible_^i_Qatly_visions,  my  dread 
of  which  would  leave  me  in  a  bath  of  perspiration. 

The  personality  of  the  three  chief  occupants  of  this  storey 
was  admirably  adapted  to  materialise  the  ghostly  impressions 


JEAOTETTE  THOMfi.     AUNT  FRIEDERIKE      9 

of    the    house    into    a    reality    that    resembled    some    strange 
fairy-tale. 

Jeannette  Thome  was  very  small  and  stout;  she  wore  a  fair 
Titus  wig,  and  seemed  to  hug  to  herself  the  consciousness  of 
vanished  beauty.  My  aunt,  her  faithful  friend  and  guardian, 
who  was  also  an  old  maid,  was  remarkable  for  the  height  and 
extreme  leanness  of  her  person.  The  oddity  of  her  otherwise 
very  pleasant  face  was  increased  by  an  exceedingly  pointed  chin. 
My  uncle  Adolph  had  chosen  as  his  permanent  study  a  dark 
room  in  the  courtyard.  There  it  was  that  I  saw  him  for  the 
first  time,  surrounded  by  a  great  wilderness  of  books,  and  attired 
in  an  unpretentious  indoor  costume,  the  most  striking  feature  of 
which  was  a  tall,  pointed  felt  cap,  such  as  I  had  seen  worn  by  the 
clown  who  belonged  to  the  troupe  of  rope-dancers  at  Eisleben. 
A  great  love  of  independence  had  driven  him  to  this  strange 
retreat.  He  had  been  originally  destined  for  the  Church',  but 
he  soon  gave  that  up,  in  order  to  devote  himself _  entirely  to 
philological  studies.  But  as  he  had  the^  greatest  dislike  of 
acting  as  a  professor  and  teacher  in  a  regular  post,  he  soon  tried 
to  make  a  meagre  livelihood  by  literary  work.  He  haol  certain 
social  gifts,  and  especially  a  fine  tenor  voice,  ^  and  appears  in 
his  youth  to  have  been  welcome  as  a  man  of  letters  among  a 
fairly  wide  circle  of  friends  at  Leipzig. 

On  a  trip  to  Jena,  during  which  he  and  a  companion  seem 
to  have  found  their  way  into  various  musical  and  oratorical 
associations,  he  paid  a  visit  to  Schiller.  With  this  object  in 
view,  he  had  come  armed  with  a  request  from  the  management 
of  the  Leipzig  Theatre,  who  wanted  to  secure  the  rights  of 
Wallenstein,  which  was  just  finished.  He  told  me  later  of  the 
magic  impression  made  upon  him  by  Schiller,  with  his  tall 
slight  figure  and  irresistibly  attractive  blue  eyes.  His  only 
complaint  was  that,  owing  to  a  well-meant  trick  played  on 
him  by  his  friend,  he  had  been  placed  in  a  most  trying  position ; 
for  the  latter  had  managed  to  send  Schiller  a  small  volume  of 
Vagner's  poems  in  advance. 

)ung  poet  was  much  embarrassed  to  hear  Schiller 
im  in  flattering  terms  on  the  subject  of  his  poetry, 
onvinced  that  the  great  man  was  merely  encouraging 
)f  kindness.  Afterwards  he  devoted  himself  entirely 


10  MY   LIFE 

to  philological  studies  — one  of  his  best-known  publications 
in  that  department  being  his  Parmsso  Italiano,  which  he 
dedicated  to  Goethe  in  an  Italian  poem.  True,  I  have  heard 
experts  say  that  the  latter  was  written  in  unusually  pompous 
Italian ;  but  Goethe  sent  him  a  letter  full  of  praise,  as  well  as 
a  .xihvr  cup  from  his  own  household  plate.  The  impression 
that  I,  as  a  boy  of  eight,  conceived  of  Adolph  Wagner,  amid  the 
surroundings  of  his  own  home,  was  that  he  was  a  peculiarly 
puzzling  character. 

I  soon  had  to  leave  the  influence  of  this  environment  and 
was  brought  back  to  my  people  at  Dresden.  Meanwhile  my 
family,  under  the  guidance  of  my  bereaved  mother,  had  been 
obliged  to  settle  down  as  well  as  they  could  under  the  circum- 
stances. My  eldest  brother  Albert,  who  originally  intended 
to  study  medicine,  had,  upon  the  advice  of  Weber,  who  had 
much  admired  his  beautiful  tenor  voice,  started  his  theatrical 
career  in  Breslau.  My  second  sister  Louisa  soon  followed  his 
example,  and  became  an  actress.  My  eldest  sister  Rosalie 
had  obtained  an  excellent  engagement  at  the  Dresden  Court 
Theatre,  and  the  younger  members  of  the  family  all  looked 
up  to  her;  for  she  was  now  the  main  support  of  our  poor 
sorrowing  mother.  My  family  still  occupied  the  same  com- 
fortable home  which  my  father  had  made  for  them.  Some  of 
the  spare  rooms  were  occasionally  let  to  strangers,  and  Spohr 
was  among  those  who  at  one  time  lodged  with  us.  Thanks  to  her 
great  energy,  and  to  help  received  from  various  sources  (among 
which  the  continued  generosity  of  the  Court,  out  of  respect 
to  the  memory  of  my  late  stepfather,  must  not  be  forgotten), 
my  mother  managed  so  well  in  making  both  ends  meet,  that 
even  my  education  did  not  suffer. 

After  it  had  been  decided  that  my  sister  Clara,  owing  to  her 
exceedingly  beautiful  voice,  should  also  go  on  the  stage,  my 
mother  took  the  greatest  care  to  prevent  me  from  developing 
any  taste  whatever  for  the  theatre.  She  never  ceased  to 
reproach  herself  for  having  consented  to  the  theatrical  career 
of  my  eldest  brother,  and  as  my  second  brother  showed  no 
greater  talents  than  those  which  were  useful  to  him  as  a  gold- 
smith, it  was  now  her  chief  desire  to  see  some  progress  made 
towards  the  fulfilment  of  the  hopes  and  wishes  of  my  step- 


THE    KKEUZ   GRAMMAR    SCHOOL  11 

father,  '  who  hoped  to  make  something  of  me.'  On  the  com- 
pletion of  my  eighth  year  I  was  sent  to  the  Kreuz  (jtrammar 
School  in  Dresden,  where  it  \vas  hoped  I  would  study!  There 
I  was  placed  at  the  bottom  of  the  lowest  class,  and  started  my 
education  under  the  most  unassuming  auspices. 

My  mother  noted  with  much  interest  the  slightest  signs  I 
might  show  of  a  growing  love  and  ability  for  my  work.  She 
herself,  though  not  highly  educated,  always  created  a  lasting 
impression  on  all  who  really  learnt  to  know  her,  and  displayed 
a  peculiar  combination  of  practical  domestic  efficiency  and 
keen  intellectual  animation.  She  never  gave  one  of  her  chil- 
dren any  definite  information  concerning  her  antecedents.  She 
came  from  Weissenfels,  and  admitted  that  her  parents  had  been 
bakers  1  there.  Even  in  regard  to  her  maiden  name  she  always 
spoke  with  some  embarrassment,  and  intimated  that  it  was 
'  Perthes,'  though,  as  we  afterwards  ascertained,  it  was  in  reality 
t  Bertz.'  Strange  to  say,  she  had  been  placed  in  a  high-class 
boarding-school  in  Leipzig,  where  she  had  enjoyed  the  advan- 
tage of  the  care  and  interest  of  one  of  '  her  father's  influential 
friends,'  to  whom  she  afterwards  referred  as  being  a  Weimar 
prince  who  had  been  very  kind  to  her  family  in  Weissenfels. 
Her  education  in  that  establishment  seems  to  have  been 
interrupted  on  account  of  the  sudden  death  of  this  '  friend.' 
She  became  acquainted  with  my  father  at  a  very  early  age, 
and  married  him  in  the  first  bloom  of  her  youth,  he  also  being 
very  young,  though  he  already  held  an  appointment.  Her 
chief  characteristics  seem  to  have  been  a  keen  sense  of  humour 
and  an  amiable'  temper,  so  we  need  not  suppose  that  it  was 
merely  a  sense  of  duty  towards  the  family  of  a  departed  com- 
rade that  afterwards  induced  the  admirable  Ludwig  Geyer  to 
enter  into  matrimony  with  her  when  she  was  no  longer  youth- 
ful, but  rather  that  he  was  impelled  to  that  step  by  a  sincere 
and  warm  regard  for  the  widow  of  his  friend.  A  portrait  of 
her,  painted  by  Geyer  during  the  lifetime  of  my  father,  gives 
one  a  very  favourable  impression  of  what  she  must  have  been. 
Even  from  the  time  when  my  recollection  of  her  is  quite  dis- 
tinct, she  always  had  to  wear  a  cap  owing  to  some  slight 
affection  of  the  head,  so  that  I  have  no  recollection  of  her  as 

1  According  to  more  recent  information  —  mill-owners. 


12  MY  LIFE 

a  young  and  pretty  mother.  Her  trying  position  at  the  head 
of  a  numerous  family  (of  which  I  was  the  seventh  surviving 
member),  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  the  wherewithal  to  rear 
them,  and  of  keeping  up  appearances  on  very  limited  resources, 
did  not  conduce  to  evolve  that  tender  sweetness  and  solicitude 
which  are  usually  associated  with  motherhood.  I  hardly  ever 
recollect  her  having  fondled  me.  Indeed,  demonstrations  of 
affection  were  not  common  in  our  family,  although  a  certain 
impetuous,  almost  passionate  and  boisterous  manner  always 
characterised  our  dealings.  This  being  so,  it  naturally  seemed 
to  me  quite  a  great  event  when  one  night  I,  fretful  with  sleepi- 
ness, looked  up  at  her  with  tearful  eyes  as  she  was  taking  me 
to  bed,  and  saw  her  gaze  back  at  me  proudly  and  fondly,  and 
speak  of  me  to  a  visitor  then  present  with  a  certain  amount  of 
tenderness. 

What  struck  me  more  particularly  about  her  was  the  strange 
enthusiasm  and  almost  pathetic  manner  with  which  she  spoke 
of  the  great  and  of  the  beautiful  in  Art.  Under  this  heading, 
however,  she  would  never  have  let  me  suppose  that  she  included 
dramatic  art,  but  only  Poetry,  Music,  and  Painting.  Conse- 
quently, she  often  even  threatened  me  with  her  curse  should 
I  ever  express  a  desire  to  go  on  the  stage.  Moreover,  she  was 
very  religiously  inclined.  With  intense  fervour  she  would 
often  give  us  long  sermons  about  God  and  the  divine  quality 
in  man,  during  which,  now  and  again,  suddenly  lowering  her 
voice  in  a  rather  funny  way,  she  would  interrupt  herself  in  order 
to  rebuke  one  of  us.  After  the  death  of  our  stepfather  she  used 
to  assemble  us  all  round  her  bed  every  morning,  when  one  of 
us  would  read  out  a  hymn  or  a  part  of  the  Church  service  from 
the  prayer-book  before  she  took  her  coffee.  Sometimes  the 
choice  of  the  part  to  be  read  was  hardly  appropriate,  as,  for 
instance,  when  my  sister  Clara  on  one  occasion  thoughtlessly 
read  the  '  Prayer  to  be  said  in  time  of  War,'  and  delivered  it 
with  so  much  expression  that  my  mother  interrupted  her, 
saying :  '  Oh,  stop !  Good  gracious  me !  Things  are  not  quite 
so  bad  as  that.  There  's  no  war  on  at  present ! ' 

In  spite  of  our  limited  means  we  had  lively  and  —  as  they 
appeared  to  my  boyish  imagination  —  even  brilliant  evening 
parties  sometimes.  After  the  death  of  my  stepfather,  who, 


A  PUPPET  SHOW  AND  A  CHIVALRIC  DRAMA    13 

thanks  to  his  success  as  a  portrait  painter,  in  the  later  years  of 
his  life  had  raised  his  income  to  what  for  those  days  was  a 
really  decent  total,  many  agreeable  acquaintances  of  very 
good  social  position  whom  he  had  made  during  this  nourishing 
period  still  remained  on  friendly  terms  with  us,  and  would 
occasionally  join  us  at  our  evening  gatherings.  Amongst  those 
who  came  were  the  members  of  the  Court  Theatre,  who  at  that 
time  gave  very  charming  and  highly  entertaining  parties  of 
their  own,  which,  on  my  return  to  Dresden  later  on,  I  found 
had  been  altogether  given  up. 

Very  delightful,  too,  were  the  picnics  arranged  between  us 
and  our  friends  at  some  of  the  beautiful  spots  around  Dresden, 
for  these  excursions  were  always  brightened  by  a  certain 
artistic  spirit  and  general  good  cheer.  I  remember  one  such 
outing  we  arranged  to  Loschwitz,  where  we  made  a  kind  of 
gypsy  camp,  in  which  Carl  Maria  von  Weber  played  his  part 
in  the  character  of  cook.  At  home  we  also  had  some  music. 
My  sister  Rosalie  played  the  piano,  and  Clara  was  beginning 
to  sing.  Of  the  various  theatrical  performances  we  organised 
in  those  early  days,  often  after  elaborate  preparation,  with  the 
view  of  amusing  ourselves  on  the  birthdays  of  our  elders,  I  can 
hardly  remember  one,  save  a  parody  on  the  romantic  play  of 
Sapplio,  by  Grillparzer,  in  which  I  took  part  as  one  of  the 
singers  in  the  crowd  that  preceded  Phaon's  triumphal  car.  I 
endeavoured  to  revive  these  memories  by  means  of  a  fine 
puppet  show,  which  I  found  among  the  effects  of  my  late  step- 
father, and  for  which  he  himself  had  painted  some  beautiful 
scenery.  It  was  my  intention  to  surprise  my  people  by  means 
of  a  brilliant  performance  on  this  little  stage.  After  I  had 
very  clumsily  made  several  puppets,  and  had  provided  them 
with  a  scanty  wardrobe  made  from  cuttings  of  material  pur- 
loined from  my  sisters,  I  started  to  compose  a  chivalric  drama, 
in  which  I  proposed  to  rehearse  my  puppets.  When  I  had 
drafted  the  first  scene,  my  sisters  happened  to  discover  the  MS. 
and  literally  laughed  it  to  scorn,  and,  to  my  great  annoyance, 
for  a  long  time  afterwards  they  chaffed  me  by  repeating  one 
particular  sentence  which  I  had  put  into  the  mouth  of  the 
heroine,  and  which  was  —  Ich  Iwre  schon  den  Bitter  trdbsen  ('  I 
hear  his  knightly  footsteps  falling  '). 


14  MY   LIFE 

I  now  returned  with  renewed  ardour  to  the  theatre,  with 
which,  even  at  this  time,  my  family  was  in  close  touch.  Den 
Freischiitz  in  particular  appealed  very  strongly  to  my  imagina- 
tion, mainly  on  account  of  its  ghostly  theme.  The  emotions 
of  terror  and  the  dread  of  ghosts  formed  quite  an  important 
factor  in  the  development  of  my  mind.  From  my  earliest 
childhood  certain  mysterious  and  uncanny  things  exercised 
an  enormous  influence  over  me.  If  I  were  left  alone  in  a  room 
for  long,  I  rememher  that,  when  gazing  at  lifeless  objects  such 
as  pieces  of  furniture,  and  concentrating  my  attention  upon 
them,  I  would  suddenly  shriek  out  with  fright,  because  they 
seemed  to  me  alive.  Even  during  the  latest  years  of  my 
boyhood,  not  a  night  passed  without  my  waking  out  of  some 
ghostly  dream  and  uttering  the  most  frightful  shrieks,  which 
subsided  only  at  the  sound  of  some  human  voice.  The  most 
severe  rebuke  or  even  chastisement  seemed  to  me  at  those 
times  no  more  than  a  blessed  release.  None  of  my  brothers  or 
sisters  would  sleep  anywhere  near  me.  They  put  me  to  sleep 
as  far  as  possible  away  from  the  others,  without  thinking  that 
my  cries  for  help  would  only  be  louder  and  longer;  but  in  the 
end  they  got  used  even  to  this  nightly  disturbance. 

In  connection  with  this  childish  terror,  what  attracted  me 
so  strongly  to  the  theatre  —  by  which  I  mean  also  the  stage, 
the  rooms  behind  the  scenes,  and  the  dressing-rooms  —  was 
not  so  much  the  desire  for  entertainment  and  amusement  such 
as  that  which  impels  the  present-day  theatre-goers,  but  the 
fascinating  pleasure  of  finding  myself  in  an  entirely  different 
atmosphere,  in  a  world  that  was  purely  fantastic  and  often 
gruesomely  attractive.  Thus  to  me  a  scene,  even  a  wing, 
representing  a  bush,  or  some  costume  or  characteristic  part  of 
it,  seemed  to  come  from  another  world,  to  be  in  some  way 
as  attractive  as  an  apparition,  and  I  felt  that  contact  with 
jit  might  serve  as  a  lever  to  lift  me  from  the  dull  reality  of 
daily  routine  to  that  delightful  region  of  spirits.  Everything 
connortnl  with  a  theatrical  performance  had  for  mo  the  charm 
of  mystery,  it  both  bewitched  and  fascinated  me,  and  while 
I  was  trying,  with  the  help  of  a  few  playmates,  to  imitate  the 
performance  of  Der  Freischiitz ,  and  to  devote  myself  energetic- 
ally to  reproducing  the  needful  costumes  and  masks  in  my 


STUDY  OF  MATHEMATICS  AND  THE  CLASSICS     15 

grotesque  style  of  painting,  the  more  elegant  contents  of  my 
sisters'  wardrobes,  in  the  beautifying  of  which  I  had  often 
seen  the  family  occupied,  exercised  a  subtle  charm  over  my 
imagination;  nay,  my  heart  would  beat  madly  at  the  very 
touch  of  one  of  their  dresses. 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that,  as  I  already  mentioned,  our  family 
was  not  given  to  outward  manifestations  of  affection,  yet  the 
fact  that  I  was  brought  up  entirely  among  feminine  surround- 
ings must  necessarily  have  influenced  the  development  of  the 
sensitive  side  of  my  nature. //Perhaps  it  was  precisely  because 
my  immediate  circle  was  generally  rough  and  impetuous,  that 
the  opposite  characteristics  of  womanhood,  especially  such  as 
were  connected  with  the  imaginary  world  of  the  theatre, 
created  a  feeling  of  such  tender  longing  in  me. 

Luckily  these  fantastic  humours,  merging  from  the  gruesome 
into  the  mawkish,  were  counteracted  and  balanced  by  more 
serious  influences  undergone  at  school  at  the  hands  of  my 
teachers  and  schoolfellows.  Even  there,  it  was  chiefly  the 
weird  that  aroused  my  keenest  interest.  I  can  hardly  judge 
whether  I  had  what  would  be  called  a  good  head  for  study.  I 
think  that,  in  general,  what  I  really  liked  I  was  soon  able  to 
grasp  without  much  effort,  whereas  I  hardly  exerted  myself 
at  all  in  the  study  of  subjects  that  were  uncongenial/  This 
characteristic  was  most  marked  in  regard  to  arithmetic  and, 
later  on,  mathematics.  In  neither  of  these  subjects  did  I 
ever  succeed  in  bringing  my  mind  seriously  to  bear  upon  the 
tasks  that  were  set  me.  \In  the  matter  of  the  Classics,  too,  I 
paid  only  just  as  much  attention  as  was  absolutely  necessary 
to  enable  me  to  get  a  grasp  of  them;  for  I  was  stimulated  by; 
the  desire  to  reproduce  them  to  myself  dramatically^  In  this 
way  Greek  particularly  attracted  me,  because  the  stories  from 
Greek  mythology  so  seized  upon  my  fancy  that  I  tried  to 
imagine  their  heroes  as  sneaking  to  me  in  their  native  tongue, 
so  as  to  satisfy  my  longing  for  complete  familiarity  with  them.  ) 
In  these  circumstances  it  will  be  readily  understood  that  the 
grammar  of  the  language  seemed  to  me  merely  a  tiresome 
obstacle,  and  bv  no  means  in  itself  an  interesting  branch  of 
knowledge. 

The  fact  that  my  study  of  languages  was  never  very  thorough, 


16  MY   LIFE 

perhaps  best  explains  the  fact  that  I  was  afterwards  so  ready 
to  cease  troubling  about  them  altogether.  Not  until  much 
later  did  this  study  really  begin  to  interest  me  again,  and  that 
was  only  when  I  learnt  to  understand  its  physiological  and 
philosophical  side,  as  it  was  revealed  to  our  modern  Gennanists 
by  the  pioneer  work  of  Jakob  Grimm.  Then,  when  it  was 
too  late  to  apply  myself  thoroughly  to  a  study  which  at  last 
I  had  learned  to  appreciate,  I  regretted  that  this  newer  con- 
ception of  the  study  of  languages  had  not  yet  found  acceptance 
in  our  colleges  when  I  was  younger. 

Nevertheless,  by  my  successes  in  philological  work  I  managed 
to  attract  the  attention  of  a  young  teacher  at  the  Kreuz 
Grammar  School,  a  Master  of  Arts  named  Sillig,  who  proved 
very  helpful  to  me.  He  often  permitted  me  to  visit  him  and 
show  him  my  work,  consisting  of  metric  translations  and  a  few 
original  poems,  and  he  always  seemed  very  pleased  with  my 
efforts  in  recitation.  What  he  thought  of  me  may  best  be 
judged  perhaps  from  the  fact  that  he  made  me,  as  a  boy  of 
about  twelve,  recite  not  only  '  Hector's  Farewell '  from  the 
Iliad,  but  even  Hamlet's  celebrated  monologue.  On  one 
occasion,  when  I  was  in  the  fourth  form  of  the  school,  one  of 
my  schoolfellows,  a  boy  named  Starke,  suddenly  fell  dead,  and 
the  tragic  event  aroused  so  much*  sympathy,  that  not  only  did 
the  whole  school  attend  the  funeral,  but  the  headmaster  also 
ordered  that  a  poem  should  be  written  in  commemoration  of 
the  ceremony,  and  that  this  poem  should  be  published.  Of  the 
various  poems  submitted,  among  which  there  was  one  by  my- 
self, prepared  very  hurriedly,  none  seemed  to  the  master 
worthy  of  the  honour  which  he  had  promised,  and  he  there- 
fore announced  his  intention  of  substituting  one  of  his  own 
speeches  in  the  place  of  our  rejected  attempts.  Much  dis- 
tressed by  this  decision,  I  quickly  sought  out  Professor  Sillig, 
with  the  view  of  urging  him  to  intervene  on  behalf  of  my  poem. 
We  thereupon  went  through  it  together.  Its  well-constructed 
and  well-rhymed  verses,  written  in  stanzas  of  eight  lines, 
determined  him  to  revise  the  whole  of  it  carefully.  Much 
of  its  imagery  was  bombastic,  and  far  beyond  the  conception 
of  a  boy  of  my  age.  I  recollect  that  in  one  part  I  had  drawn 
usively  from  the  monologue  in  Addison's  Cato,  spoken 


ATTEMPTED  TRAGEDIES  AND  EPICS         17 

by  Catp  just  before  his  suicide.     I  had  met  with  this  passage 
in  an  English  grammar,  and  it  had  made  a  deep  impression  > 
upon  me.     The  words :  '  The  stars  shall  fade  away,  the  sun , 
himself  grow  dim  with  age,  and  nature  sink  in  years,'  which, 
at  all  events,  were  a  direct  plagiarism,  made  Sillig  laugh  —  a 
thing  at  which  I  was  a  little  offended.     However,  I  felt  very 
grateful  to  him,  for,  thanks  to  the  care  and  rapidity  with  which 
he  cleared  my  poem  of  these  extravagances,  it  was  eventually 
accepted  by  the  headmaster^  printed,  and  widely  circulated. 

The  effect  of  this  success  was  extraordinary,  both  on  my 
schoolfellows  and  on  my  own  family.  My  mother  devoutly 
folded  her  hands  in  thankfulness,  and  in  my  own  mind  my 
vocation  seemed  quite  a  settled  thing.  It  was  clear,  beyond 
the  possibility  of  a  doubt,  that  I  was  destined  to  be  a  poet. 
Professor  Sillig  wished  me  to  compose  a  grand  epic,  and  sug- 
gested as  a  subject  '  The  Battle  of  Parnassus,'  as  described  by 
Pausanias.  His  reasons  for  this  choice  were  based  upon  the 
legend  related  by  Pausanias,  viz.,  that  in  the  second  century 
B.C.  the  Muses  from  Parnassus  aided  the  combined  Greek 
armies  against  the  destructive  invasion  of  the  Gauls  by  provok- 
ing a  panic  among  the  latter.  I  actually  began  my  heroic 
poem  in  hexameter  verse,  but  could  not  get  through  the  first 
canto. 

Not  being  far  enough  advanced  in  the  language  to  under- 
stand the  Greek  tragedies  thoroughly  in  the  original,  my  own 
attempts  to  construct  a  tragedy  in  the  Greek  form  were  greatly 
influenced  by  the  fact  that  quite  by  accident  I  came  across 
August  Apel's  clever  imitation  of  this  style  in  his  striking 
poems  '  Polyi'dos '  and  '  Aitolier.'  For  my  theme  I  selected 
the  death  of  Ulysses,  from  a  fable  of  Hyginus,  according  to 
which  the  aged  hero  is  killed  by  his  son,  the  offspring  of  hia 
union  with  Calypso.  But  I  did  not  get  very  far  with  this  work 
either,  before  I  gave  it  up. 

My  mind  became  so  bent  upon  this  sort  of  thing,  that  duller 
studies  naturally  ceased  to  interest  me.  The  mythology, 
legends,  and,  at  last,  the  history  of  Greece  alone  attracted  me. 

I  was  fond  of  life,  merry  with  my  companions,  and  always 
ready  for  a  joke  or  an  adventure.     Moreover,  I  was  constantly  I/ 
forming  friendships,  almost  passionate  in  their  ardour,  with  '/ 


18  MY   LIFE 

one    or    the    other    of    my    comrades,    and    in    choosing    my 

,  associates  I  was  mainly  influenced  by  the  extent  to   which 

inv    new    acquaintance    appealed    to    my    eccentric    imagina- 

'tion.     At  one  time  it  would  be  poetising  and  versifying  that 

decided  my  choice  of  a  friend ;  at  another,  theatrical  enterprises, 

while  now  and  then  it  would  be  a  longing  for  rambling  and 

mischief. 

Furthermore,  when  I  reached  my  thirteenth  year,  a  great 
change  came  over  our  family  affairs.  My  sister  Rosalie,  who 
had  become  the  chief  support  of  our  household,  obtained  an 
advantageous  engagement  at  the  theatre  in  Prague,  whither 
mother  and  children  removed  in  1826,  thus  giving  up  the 
I  )resden  home  altogether.  I  was  left  behind  in  Dresden,  so 
that  I  might  continue  to  attend  the  Kreuz  Grammar  School 
until  I  was  ready  to  go  up  to  the  university.  I  was  therefore 
sent  to  board  and  lodge  with  a  family  named  Bohme,  whose 
sons  I  had  known  at  school,  and  in  whose  house  I  already  felt 
**>  I  quite  at  home.  With  my  residence  in  this  somewhat  rough, 
poor,  and  not  particularly  well-conducted  family,  my  years  of 
dissipation  began.  I  no  longer  enjoyed  the  quiet  retirement 
necessary  for  work,  nor  the  gentle,  spiritual  influence  of  my 
sisters'  companionship.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  plunged  into 
a  busy,  restless  life,  full  of  rough  horseplay  and  of  quarrels, 
ertheless,  it  was  there  that  I  began  to  experience  the 
influence  of  the  gentler  sex  in  a  manner  hitherto  unknown 
to  me,  as  the  grown-up  daughters  of  the  family  and  their 
friends  often  filled  the  scanty  and  narrow  rooms  of  the  house. 
Indeed,  my  first  recollections  of  boyish  love  date  from  this 
period.  I  remember  a  very  beautiful  young  girl,  whose  name, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  was  Amalie  Hoffmann,  coming  to  call  at 
the  house  one  Sunday.  She  was  charmingly  dressed,  and  her 
appearance  as  she  came  into  the  room  literally  struck  me 
<liiinl>  with  amazement.  On  other  occasions  I  recollect  pre- 
tending to  be  too  helplessly  sleepy  to  move,  so  that  I  might  be 
carried  up  to  bed  by  the  girls,  that  being,  as  they  thought,  the 
only  remedy  for  my  condition.  And  I  repeated  this,  because 
I  found,  to  my  surprise,  that  their  attention  under  these 
circumstances  brought  me  into  closer  and  more  gratifying 
proximity  with  them. 


PRAGUE.  THE  TALES  OF  HOFFMANN    19 

The  most  important  event  during  this  year  of  separation 
from  my  family  was,  however,  a  short  visit  I  paid  to  them  in 
Prague.  In  the  middle  of  the  winter  my  mother  came  to 
Dresden,  and  took  me  back  with  her  to  Prague  for  a  week. 
Her  way  of  travelling  was  quite  unique.  To  the  end  of  her 
days  she  preferred  the  more  dangerous  mode  of  travelling  in  a 
hackney  carriage  to  the  quicker  journey  by  mail-coach,  so  that 
we  spent  three  whole  days  in  the  bitter  cold  on  the  road  from 
Dresden  to  Prague.  The  journey  over  the  Bohemian  moun- 
tains often  seemed  to  be  beset  with  the  greatest  dangers, 
but  happily  we  survived  our  thrilling  adventures  and  at  last 
arrived  in  Prague,  where  I  was  suddenly  plunged  into  entirely 
new  surroundings. 

For  a  long  time  the  thought  of  leaving  Saxony  on  another 
visit  to  Bohemia,  and  especially  Prague,  had  had  quite  >a 
romantic  attraction  for  me.  The  foreign  nationality,  the 
broken  German  of  the  people,  the  peculiar  headgear  of  the 
women,  the  native  wines,  the  harp-girls  and  musicians,  and 
finally,  the  ever  present  signs  of  Catholicism,  its  numerous 
chapels  and  shrines,  all  produced  on  me  a  strangely  exhilarating  i 
impression.  This  was  probably  due  to  my  craze  for  everything 
theatrical  and  spectacular,  as  distinguished  from  simple  i 
bourgeois  customs.  Above  all,  the  antique  splendour  and* 
beauty  of  the  incomparable  city  of  Prague  became  indelibly 
stamped  on  my  fancy.  Even  in  my  own  family  surroundings 
I  found  attractions  to  which  I  had  hitherto  been  a  stranger. 
For  instance,  my  sister  Ottilie,  only  two  years  older  than  my- 
self, had  won  the  devoted  friendship  of  a  noble  family,  that  of 
Count  Pachta,  two  of  whose  daughters,  Jenny  and  Auguste, 
who  had  long  been  famed  as  the  leading  beauties  of  Prague, 
had  become  fondly  attached  to  her.  To  me,  such  people  and 
such  a  connection  were  something  quite  novel  and  enchanting. 
Besides  these,  certain  beaux  esprits  of  Prague,  among  them 
W.  Marsano,  a  strikingly  handsome  and  charming  man,  were 
frequent  visitors  at  our  house.  They  often  earnestly  discussed 
the  tales  of  Hoffmann,  which  at  that  date  were  comparatively 
new,  and  had  created  some  sensation.  It  was  now  that  I  made 
my  first  though  rather  superficial  acquaintance  with  this 
romantic  visionary,  and  so  received  a  stimulus  which  influenced 


20  MY   LIFE 

me  for  many  years  even  to  the  point  of  infatuation,  and  gave 
me  very  peculiar  ideas  of  the  world. 

In  the  following  spring,  1827,  I  repeated  this  journey  from 
Dresden  to  Prague,  but  this  time  on  foot,  and  accompanied  by 
my  friend  Rudolf  Bohme.  Our  tour  was  full  of  adventure. 
We  got  to  within  an  hour  of  Teplitz  the  first  night,  and  next 
day  we  had  to  get  a  lift  in  a  wagon,  as  we  had  walked  our 
feet  sore;  yet  this  only  took  us  as  far  as  Lowositz,  as  our 
funds  had  quite  run  out.  Under  a  scorching  sun,  hungry  and 
half-fainting,  we  wandered  along  bypaths  through  absolutely 
unknown  country,  until  at  sundown  we  happened  to  reach 
the  main  road  just  as  an  elegant  travelling  coach  came  in  sight. 
I  humbled  my  pride  so  far  as  to  pretend  I  was  a  travelling 
journeyman,  and  begged  the  distinguished  travellers  for  alms, 
while  my  friend  timidly  hid  himself  in  the  ditch  by  the  road- 
side. Luckily  we  decided  to  seek  shelter  for  the  night  in  an 
inn,  where  we  took  counsel  whether  we  should  spend  the  alms 
just  received  on  a  supper  or  a  bed.  We  decided  for  the  supper, 
proposing  to  spend  the  night  under  the  open  sky.  While  we 
were  refreshing  ourselves,  a  strange-looking  wayfarer  entered. 
He  wore  a  black  velvet  skull-cap,  to  which  a  metal  lyre  was 
attached  like  a  cockade,  and  on  his  back  he  bore  a  harp.  Very 
cheerfully  he  set  down  his  instrument,  made  himself  comfort- 
able, and  called  for  a  good  meal.  He  intended  to  stay  the 
night,  and  to  continue  his  way  next  day  to  Prague,  where  he 
lived,  and  whither  he  was  returning  from  Hanover. 

My  good  spirits  and  courage  were  stimulated  by  the  jovial 
manners  of  this  merry  fellow,  who  constantly  repeated  his 
favourite  motto,  '  non  plus  'ultra.'  We  soon  struck  up  an 
acquaintance,  and  in  return  for  my  confidence,  the  strolling 
player's  attitude  to  me  was  one  of  almost  touching  sympathy. 
It  was  agreed  that  we  should  continue  our  journey  together 
next  day  on  foot.  He  lent  me  two  twenty-kreutzer  pieces 
(about  ninepence),  and  allowed  me  to  write  my  Prague  address 
in  his  pocket-book.  I  was  highly  delighted  at  this  personal 
success.  My  harpist  grew  extravagantly  merry;  a  good  deal 
of  Czernosek  wine  was  drunk ;  he  sang  and  played  on  his  harp 
like  a  madman,  continually  reiterating  his  '  non  plus  ultra/  till 
at  last,  overcome  with  wine,  he  fell  down  on  the  straw,  which 


ADVENTURES  ON  THE  WAY  TO  PRAGUE  21 

had  been  spread  out  on  the  floor  for  our  common  bed.  When 
the  sun  once  more  peeped  in,  we  could  not  rouse  him,  and  we 
had  to  make  up  our  minds  to  set  off  in  the  freshness  of  the  early 
morning  without  him,  feeling  convinced  that  the  sturdy  fellow 
would  overtake  us  during  the  day.  But  it  was  in  vain  that  we 
looked  out  for  him  on  the  road  and  during  our  subsequent  stay 
in  Prague.  Indeed,  it  was  not  until  several  weeks  later  that 
the  extraordinary  fellow  turned  up  at  my  mother's,  not  so 
much  to  collect  payment  of  his  loan,  as  to  inquire  about  the 
welfare  of  the  young  friend  to  whom  that  loan  had  been  made. 

The  remainder  of  our  journey  was  very  fatiguing,  and  the 
joy  I  felt  when  I  at  last  beheld  Prague  from  the  summit  of  a 
hill,  at  about  an  hour's  distance,  simply  beggars  description. 
Approaching  the  suburbs,  we  were  for  the  second  time  met  by 
a  splendid  carriage,  from  which  my  sister  Ottilie's  two  lovely 
friends  called  out  to  me  in  astonishment.  They  had  recognised 
me  immediately,  in  spite  of  my  terribly  sunburnt  face,  blue 
linen  blouse,  and  bright  red  cotton  cap.  Overwhelmed  with 
shame,  and  with  my  heart  beating  like  mad,  I  could  hardly 
utter  a  word,  and  hurried  away  to  my  mother's  to  attend  at 
once  to  the  restoration  of  my  sunburnt  complexion.  To  this 
task  I  devoted  two  whole  days,  during  which  I  swathed  my 
face  in  parsley  poultices;  and  not  till  then  did  I  seek  the 
pleasures  of  society.  When,  on  the  return  journey,  I  looked 
back  once  more  on  Prague  from  the  same  hilltop,  I  burst  into 
tears,  flung  myself  on  the  earth,  and  for  a  long  time  could  not 
be  induced  by  my  astonished  companion  to  pursue  the  journey. 
I  was  downcast  for  the  rest  of  the  way,  and  we  arrived  home 
in  Dresden  without  any  further  adventures. 

During  the  same  year  I  again  gratified  my  fancy  for  long 
excursions  on  foot  by  joining  a  numerous  company  of  grammar 
school  boys,  consisting  of  pupils  of  several  classes  and  of  various 
ages,  who  had  decided  to  spend  their  summer  holidays  in  a 
tour  to  Leipzig.  This  journey  also  stands  out  among  the 
memories  of  my  youth,  by  reason  of  the  strong  impressions  it 
left  behind.  The  characteristic  feature  of  our  party  was  that 
we  all  aped  the  student,  by  behaving  and  dressing  extravagantly 
in  the  most  approved  student  fashion.  After  going  as  far  as 
Meissen  on  the  market-boat,  our  path  lay  off  the  main  road, 


H  MY   LIFE 

through  villages  with  which  I  was  as  yet  unfamiliar.  We  spent 
the  night  in  the  vast  bam  of  a  village  inn,  and  our  adventures 
were  of  tin-  wildest  description.  There  we  saw  a  large  marion- 
ette show,  with  almost  life-sized  figures.  Our  entire  party 
settled  themselves  in  the  auditorium,  where  their  presence 
was  a  source  of  some  anxiety  to  the  managers,  who  had  only 
reckoned  on  an  audience  of  peasants.  Genovefa  was  the  play 
given.  The  ceaseless  silly  jests,  and  constant  interpolations 
and  jeering  interruptions,  in  which  our  corps  of  embryo- 
students  indulged,  finally  aroused  the  anger  even  of  the 
peasants,  who  had  come  prepared  to  weep.  I  believe  I  was  the 
only  one  of  our  party  who  was  pained  by  these  impertinences, 
and  in  spite  of  involuntary  laughter  at  some  of  my  comrades' 
jokes,  I  not  only  defended  the  play  itself,  but  also  its  original, 
simple-minded  audience.  A  popular  catch-phrase  which  oc- 
curred in  the  piece  has  ever  since  remained  stamped  on  my 
memory.  l  Golo '  instructs  the  inevitable  Kaspar  that,  when 
the  Count  Palatine  returns  home,  he  must  l  tickle  him  behind, 
so  that  he  should  feel  it  in  front '  (hinten  zu  Tcitzeln,  doss  er  es 
vorne  fuhle).  Kaspar  conveys  Golo's  order  verbatim  to  the 
Count,  and  the  latter  reproaches  the  unmasked  rogue  in  the 
following  terms,  uttered  with  the  greatest  pathos :  l  0  Golo, 
Golo!  thou  hast  told  Kaspar  to  tickle  me  behind,  so  that  I 
shall  feel  it  in  front ! ' 

From  Grimma  our  party  rode  into  Leipzig  in  open  carriages, 
but  not  until  we  had  first  carefully  removed  all  the  outward 
emblems  of  the  undergraduate,  lest  the  local  students  we  were 
likely  to  meet  might  make  us  rue  our  presumption. 
*  Since  my  first  visit,  when  I  was  eight  years  old,  I  had  only 
once  returned  to  Leipzig,  and  then  for  a  very  brief  stay,  and 
under  circumstances  very  similar  to  those  of  the  earlier  visit. 
I  now  renewed  my  fantastic  impressions  of  the  Thome  house, 
but  this  time,  owing  to  my  more  advanced  education,  I  looked 
forward  to  more  intelligent  intercourse  with  my  uncle  Adolph. 
An  opening  for  this  was  soon  provided  by  my  joyous  astonish- 
ment on  learning  that  a  bookcase  in  the  large  anteroom,  con- 
taining a  goodly  collection  of  books,  was  my  property,  having 
been  left  me  by  my  father.  I  went  through  the  books  with 
my  uncle,  selected  at  once  a  number  of  Latin  authors  in  the 


THE    'COMMENT'    CONFIRMATION    (1827)     23 

handsome  Zweibriick  edition,  along  with  sundry  attractive 
looking  works  of  poetry  and  belles-lettres,  and  arranged  for  them 
to  be  sent  to  Dresden.  During  this  visit  I  was  very  much 
interested  in  the  life  of  the  students.  In  addition  to  my 
impressions  of  the  theatre  and  of  Prague,  now  came  those  of 
the  so-called  swaggering  undergraduate.  A  great  change  had 
taken  place  in  this  class.  When,  as  a  lad  of  eight,  I  had  my 
first  glimpse  of  students,  their  long  hair,  their  old  German 
costume  with  the  black  velvet  skull-cap  and  the  shirt  collar 
turned  back  from  the  bare  neck,  had  quite  taken  my  fancy. 
But  since  that  time  the  old  student  '  associations '  which 
affected  this  fashion  had  disappeared  in  the  face  of  police 
prosecutions.  On  the  other  hand,  the  national  student  clubs, 
no  less  peculiar  to  Germans,  had  become  conspicuous.  These 
clubs  adopted,  more  or  less,  the  fashion  of  the  day,  but  with 
some  little  exaggeration.  Albeit,  their  dress  was  clearly  dis- 
tinguishable from  that  of  other  classes,  owing  to  its  picturesque- 
ness,  and  especially  its  display  of  the  various  club-colours.  The 
'  Comment/  that  compendium  of  pedantic  rules  of  conduct  for 
the  preservation  of  a  defiant  and  exclusive  esprit  de  corps,  as 
opposed  to  the  bourgeois  classes,  had  its  fantastic  side,  just  as 
the  most  philistine  peculiarities  of  the  Germans  have,  if  you 
probe  them  deeply  enough.  To  me  it  represented  the  idea  of 
emancipation  from  the  yoke  of  school  and  family.  The  longing 
to  become  a  student  coincided  unfortunately  with  my  growing 
dislike  for  drier  studies  and  with  my  ever-increasing  fond- 
ness for  cultivating  romantic  poetry.  The  results  of  this  soon 
showed  themselves  in  my  resolute  attempts  to  make  a  change. 

At  the  time  of  my  confirmation,  at  Easter,  1827,  I  had 
considerable  doubt  about  this  ceremony,  and  I  already  felt 
a  serious  falling  off  of  my  reverence  for  religious  observances. 
The  boy  who,  not  many  years  before,  had  gazed  with  agonised 
sympathy  on  the  altarpiece  in  the  Kreuz  Kirche  (Church  of 
the  Holy  Cross),  and  had  yearned  with  ecstatic  fervour  to 
hang  upon  the  Cross  in  place  of  the  Saviour,  had  now  so  far 
lost  his  veneration  for  the  clergyman,  whose  preparatory 
confirmation  classes  he  attended,  as  to  be  quite  ready  to  make 
fun  of  him,  and  even  to  join  with  his  comrades  in  withholding 
part  of  his  class  fees,  and  spending  the  money  in  sweets.  How 


24  MY   LIFE 

matters  stood  with  me  spiritually  was  revealed  to  me,  almost 
to  my  horror,  at  the  Communion  service,  when  I  walked  in 
procession  with  my  fellow-communicants  to  the  altar  to  the 
sound  of  organ  and  choir.  The  shudder  with  which  I  received 
the  Bread  and  Wine  was  so  ineffaceably  stamped  on  my  memory, 
that  I  never  again  partook  of  the  Communion,  lest  I  should  do 
so  with  levity.  To  avoid  this  was  all  the  easier  for  me,  seeing 
that  among  Protestants  such  participation  is  not  compulsory. 

I  soon,  however,  seized,  or  rather  created,  an  opportunity 
of  forcing  a  breach  with  the  Kreuz  Grammar  School,  and  thus 
compelled  my  family  to  let  me  go  to  Leipzig.  In  self-defence 
against  what  I  considered  an  unjust  punishment  with  which  I 
was  threatened  by  the  assistant  headmaster,  Baumgarten- 
Crusius,  for  whom  I  otherwise  had  great  respect,  I  asked  to  be 
discharged  immediately  from  the  school  on  the  ground  of  sudden 
summons  to  join  my  family  in  Leipzig.  I  had  already  left  the 
Bohme  household  three  months  before,  and  now  lived  alone  in 
a  small  garret,  where  I  was  waited  on  by  the  widow  of  a  court 
plate-washer,  who  at  every  meal  served  up  the  familiar  thin 
Saxon  coffee  as  almost  my  sole  nourishment.  In  this  attic  I  did 
little  else  but  write  verses.  Here,  too,  I  formed  the  first  out- 
lines of  that  stupendous  tragedy  which  afterwards  filled  my 
family  with  such  consternation.  The  irregular  habits  I  ac- 
quired through  this  premature  domestic  independence  induced 
my  anxious  mother  to  consent  very  readily  to  my  removal  to 
Leipzig,  tha  more  so  as  a  part  of  our  scattered  family  had 
already  migrated  there. 

My  longing  for  Leipzig,  originally  aroused  by  the  fantastic 
impressions  I  had  gained  there,  and  later  by  my  enthusiasm 
for  a  student's  life,  had  recently  been  still  further  stimulated. 
I  had  seen  scarcely  anything  of  my  sister  Louisa,  at  that  time 
a  girl  of  about  twenty-two,  as  she  had  gone  to  the  theatre  of 
Breslau  shortly  after  our  stepfather's  death.  Quite  recently 
she  had  been  in  Dresden  for  a  few  days  on  her  way  to  Leipzig, 
having  accepted  an  engagement  at  the  theatre  there.  This 
meeting  with  my  almost  unknown  sister,  her  hearty  mani- 
festations of  joy  at  seeing  me  again,  as  well  as  her  sprightly, 
merry  disposition,  quite  won  my  heart.  To  live  with  her 
seemed  an  alluring  prospect,  especially  as  my  mother  and 


SISTER  LOUISA,  ST.  NICHOLAS'S  SCHOOL    25 

Ottilie  had  joined  her  for  a  while.  For  the  first  time  a  sister 
had  treated  me  with  some  tenderness.  When  at  last  I  reached 
Leipzig  at  Christmas  in  the  same  year  (1827),  and  there  found 
my  mother  with  Ottilie  and  Cecilia  (my  half-sister),  I  fancied 
myself  in  heaven.  Great  changes,  however,  had  already 
taken  place.  Louisa  was  betrothed  to  a  respected  and  well- 
to-do  bookseller,  Friedrich  Brockhaus.  This  gathering  to- 
gether of  the  relatives  of  the  penniless  bride-elect  did  not 
seem  to  trouble  her  remarkably  kind-hearted  fiance.  But 
my  sister  may  have  become  uneasy  on  the  subject,  for  she 
soon  gave  me  to  understand  that  she  was  not  taking  it  quite 
in  good  part.  Her  desire  to  secure  an  entree  into  the  higher 
social  circles  of  bourgeois  life  naturally  produced  a  marked 
change  in  her  manner,  at  one  time  so  full  of  fun,  and  of  this 
I  gradually  became  so  keenly  sensible  that  finally  we  were 
estranged  for  a  time.  Moreover,  I  unfortunately  gave  her 
good  cause  to  reprove  my  conduct.  After  I  got  to  Leipzig 
I  quite  gave  up  my  studies  and  all  regular  school  work,  prob- 
ably owing  to  the  arbitrary  and  pedantic  system  in  vogue  at 
the  school  there. 

In  Leipzig  there  were  two  higher-class  schools,  one  called 
St.  Thomas's  School,  and  the  other,  and  the  more  modern, 
St.  Nicholas's  School.  The  latter  at  that  time  enjoyed  a 
better  reputation  than  the  former;  so  there  I  had  to  go.  But 
the  council  of  teachers  before  whom  I  appeared  for  my  entrance 
examination  at  the  New  Year  (1828)  thought  fit  to  maintain 
the  dignity  of  their  school  by  placing  me  for  a  time  in  the 
upper  third  form,  whereas  at  the  Kreuz  Grammar  School  in 
Dresden  I  had  been  in  the  second  form.  My  disgust  at  having 
to  lay  aside  my  Homer  —  from  which  I  had  already  mado 
written  translations  of  twelve  songs  —  and  take  up  the  lighter 
Greek  prose  writers  was  indescribable.  It  hurt  my  feelings 
so  deeply,  and  so  influenced  my  behaviour,  that  I  never  made 
a  friend  of  any  teacher  in  the  school.  The  unsympathetic 
treatment  I  met  with  made  me  all  the  more  obstinate,  and 
various  other  circumstances  in  my  position  only  added  to  this 
feeling.  While  student  life,  as  I  saw  it  day  by  day,  inspired 
me  ever  more  and  more  with  its  rebellious  spirit,  I  unexpectedly 
met  with  another  cause  for  despising  the  dry  monotony  of 


26  MY   LIFE 


school  regime.     I  refer  to  the  influence  of  my  uncle,  Adolpk 
uer,  which,  though  he  was  long  unconscious  of  it,  went  a 

I..,,-:  way  towards  moulding  the  growing  stripling-  that  1  then 


The  fact  that  my  romantic  tastes  were  not  based  solely  on 
a  tendency  to  superficial  amusement  was  shown  by  my  ardent 
attachment  to  this  learned  relative.  TTI  his  manner  and  con-^ 
natiou  !"•  was  certainty  very  attractive;  the  many-sidedness 
f  hi-  knowledge,  which  nnhra.vd  not  only  philology  but  also 
philosophy  and  general  poetic  literature,  rendered  intercourse 
with  him  a  most  entertaining  pastime,  as  all  those  who  knew 
him  used  to  admit.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  that  he  was 
denied  the  gift  of  writing  with  equal  charm,  or  clearness,  was 
a  singular  defect  which  seriously  lessened  his  influence  upon 
the  literary  world,  and,  in  fact,  often  made  him  appear  ridicu- 
lous, as  in  a  written  argument  he  would  perpetrate  the  most 
pompous  and  involved  sentences.  This  weakness  could  not 
have  alarmed  me,  because  in  the  hazy  period  of  my  youth  the 
more  incomprehensible  any  literary  extravagance  was,  the  more 
I  admired  it;  besides  which,  I  had  more  experience  of  his 
conversation  than  of  his  writings.  He  also  seemed  to  find 
pleasure  in  associating  with  the  lad  who  could  listen  with  so 
much  heart  and  soul.  Yet  unfortunately,  possibly  in  the 
fervour  of  his  discourses,  of  which  he  was  not  a  little  proud, 
he  forgot  that  their  substance,  as  well  as  their  form,  was  far 
above  my  youthful  powers  of  comprehension.  I  called  daily 
to  accompany  him  on  his  constitutional  walk  beyond  the  city 
gates,  and  I  shrewdly  suspect  that  we  often  provoked  the 
smiles  of  those  passers-by  who  overheard  the  profound  and 
often  earnest  discussions  between  us.  The  subjects  generally 
ranged  over  everything  serious  or  sublime  throughout  the 
whole  realm  of  knowledge.  I  took—  the^-jaggt^  enthusiastic 
interest  in  !ii-  copious  lil.rary.  and  fastc-d  eagerly  of  almost 
all  branches  of  literature,  without  really  grounding  myself 
in  any  one  of  them. 

My  uncle  was  delighted  to  find  in  me  a  very  willing  listener 
to  his  recital  of  classic  tragedies.  He  had  made  a  translation 
of  (Edipus,  and,  according  to  his  intimate  friend  Tieck,  justly 
flattered  himself  on  being  an  excellent  reader. 


ADOLPH   WAGNER  27 

I  remember  once,  when  he  was  sitting  at  his  desk  reading 
out  a  Greek  tragedy  to  me,  it  did  not  annoy  him  when  I  fell 
fast  asleep,  and  he  afterwards  pretended  he  had  not  noticed  it. 
I  was  also  induced  to  spend  my  evenings  with  him,  owing  to 
the  friendly  and  genial  hospitality  his  wife  showed  me.  A' 
very  great  change  had  come  over  my  uncle's  life  since  my 
first  acquaintance  with  him  at  Jeannette  Thome's.  The 
home  which  he,  together  with  his  sister  Friederike,  had  found 
in  his  friend's  house  seemed,  as  time  went  on,  to  have  brought 
in  its  train  duties  that  were  irksome.  As  his  literary  work 
assured  him  a  modest  income,  he  eventually  deemed  it  more 
in  accordance  with  his  dignity  to  make  a  home  of  his  own.  A 
friend  of  his,  of  the  same  age  as  himself,  the  sister  of  the 
aesthete  Wendt  of  Leipzig,  who  afterwards  became  famous, 
was  chosen  by  him  to  keep  house  for  him.  Without  saying  a 
word  to  Jeannette,  instead  of  going  for  his  usual  afternoon  walk 
he  went  to  the  church  with  his  chosen  bride,  and  got  through 
the  marriage  ceremonies  as  quickly  as  possible;  and  it  was 
only  on  his  return  that  he  informed  us  he  was  leaving,  and 
would  have  his  things  removed  that  very  day.  He  managed 
to  meet  the  consternation,  perhaps  also  the  reproaches,  of  his 
elderly  friend  with  quiet  composure ;  and  to  the  end  of  his  life 
he  continued  his  regular  tlaily  visits  to  l  Mam'selle  Thome,' 
who  at  times  would  coyly  pretend  to  sulk.  It  was  only  poor 
Friederike  who  seemed  obliged  at  times  to  atone  for  her 
brother's  sudden  unfaithfulness. 

What  attracted  me  in  my  uncle  most  strongly  was  his  blunt 
contempt  of  the  modern  pedantry  in  State,  Church,  and  School, 
to  which  he  gave  vent  with  some  humour.  Despite  the  great 
moderation  of  his  usual  views  on  life,  he  yet  produced  on  me 
the  effect  of  a  thorough  free-thinker.  I  was  highly  delighted 
by  his  contempt  for  the  pedantry  of  the  schools.  Once,  when 
I  had  come  into  serious  conflict  with  all  the  teachers  of  the 
Nicolai  School,  and  the  rector  of  the  school  had  approached 
my  uncle,  as  the  only  male  representative  of  my  family,  with 
a  serious  complaint  about  my  behaviour,  my  uncle  asked  in<> 
during  a  stroll  round  the  town,  with  a  calm  smile  as  though 
he  were  speaking  to  one  of  his  own  age,  what  I  had  been  up 
t<>  with  the  people  at  school.  I  explained  the  whole  affair  to 


28  MY   LIFE 

him,  and  described  the  punishment  to  which  I  had  been 
subjected,  and  which  seemed  to  me  unjust  He  pacified  me, 
and  exhorted  me  to  be  patient,  telling  me  to  comfort  myself 
with  the  Spanish  proverb,  un  rey  no  puede  morir,  which  he 
explained  as  meaning  that  the  ruler  of  a  school  must  of 
necessity  always  be  in  the  right. 

He  could  not,  of  course,  help  noticing,  to  his  alarm,  the 
effect  upon  me  of  this  kind  of  conversation,  which  I  was  far 
too  young  to  appreciate.  Although  it  annoyed  me  one  day, 
when  I  wanted  to  begin  reading  Goethe's  Faust,  to  hear  him 
say  quietly  that  I  was  too  young  to  understand  if,  yet,  accord- 
ing to  my  thinking,  his  other  conversations  about  our  own 
great  poets,  and  even  about  Shakespeare  and  Dante,  had  made 
me  so  familiar  with  these  sublime  figures  that  I  had  now  for 
some  time  been  secretly  busy  working  out  the  great  tragedy 
I  had  already  conceived  in  Dresden.  Since  my  trouble  at 
school  I  had  devoted  all  my  energies,  which  ought  by  rights 
to  have  been  exclusively  directed  to  my  school  duties,  to  the 
accomplishment  of  this  task.  In  this  secret  work  I  had  only 
one  confidante,  my  sister  Ottilie,  who  now  lived  with  me  at 
my  mother's.  I  can  remember  the  misgivings  and  alarm 
which  the  first  confidential  communication  of  my  great  poetic 
enterprise  aroused  in  my  good  sister;  yet  she  affectionately 
suffered  the  tortures  I  sometimes  inflicted  on  her  by  reciting 
to  her  in  secret,  but  not  without  emotion,  portions  of  my 
work  as  it  progressed.  Once,  when  I  was  reciting  to  her  one 
of  the  most  gruesome  scenes,  a  heavy  thunderstorm  came  on. 
When  the  lightning  flashed  quite  close  to  us,  and  the  thunder 
rolled,  my  sister  felt  bound  to  implore  me  to  stop;  but  she 
soon  found  it  was  hopeless,  and  continued  to  endure  it  with 
touching  devotion. 

But  a  more  significant  storm  was  brewing  on  the  horizon 
of  my  life.  My  neglect  of  school  reached  such  a  point  that  it 
could  not  but  lead  to  a  rupture.  Whilst  my  dear  mother  had 
no  presentiment  of  this,  I  awaited  the  catastrophe  with  longing 
rather  than  with  fear. 

In  order  to  meet  this  crisis  with  dignity  I  at  length  decided 
to  surprise  my  family  by  disclosing  to  them  the  secret  of  my 
tragedy,  which  was  now  completed.  They  were  to  be  informed 


'LEUBALD   UKD   ADELAIDE*  29 

of  this  great  event  by  my  uncle.  I  thought  I  could  rely  upon 
his  hearty  recognition  of  my  vocation  as  a  great  poet  on  account 
of  the  deep  harmony  between  us  on  all  other  questions  of  life, 
science,  and  art.  I  therefore  sent  him  my  voluminous  manu- 
script, with  a  long  letter  which  I  thought  would  please  him 
immensely.  In  this  I  communicated  to  him  first  my  ideas 
with  regard  to  the  St.  Nicholas's  School,  and  then  my  firm  deter- 
mination from  that  time  forward  not  to  allow  any  mere  school 
pedantry  to  check  my  free  development.  But  the  event 
turned  out  very  different  from  what  I  had  expected.  It  was 
a  great  shock  to  them.  My  uncle,  quite  conscious  that  he  had 
been  indiscreet,  paid  a  visit  to  my  mother  and  brother-in-law, 
in  order  to  report  the  misfortune  that  had  befallen  the  family, 
reproaching  himself  for  the  fact  that  his  influence  over  me 
had  not  always,  perhaps,  been  for  my  good.  To  me  he  wrote 
a  serious  letter  of  discouragement;  and  to  this  day  I  cannot 
understand  why  he  showed  so  small  a  sense  of  humour  in 
understanding  my  bad  behaviour.  To  my  surprise  he  merely 
said  that  he  reproached  himself  for  having  corrupted  me  by 
conversations  unsuited  to  my  years,  but  he  made  no  attempt 
to  explain  to  me  good-naturedly  the  error  of  my  ways. 

The  crime  this  boy  of  fifteen  had  committed  was,  as  I 
before,  to  have  written  a  great  tragedy,  entitled  Leubald  ur 
Adelaide. 

The  manuscript  of  this  drama  has  unfortunately  been  lost,' 
but  I  can  still  see  it  clearly  in  my  mind's  eye.  The  handwriting 
was  most  affected,  and  the  backward-sloping  tall  letters  with 
which  I  had  aimed  at  giving  it  an  air  of  distinction  had  already 
been  compared  by  one  of  my  teachers  to  Persian  hieroglyphics. 
In  this  composition  I  had  constructed  a  drama  in  which  I  had 
drawn  largely  upon  Shakespeare's  Hamlet,  King  Lear,  and 
Macbeth,  and  Goethe's  Gotz  von  Berlichingen.  The  plot  was 
really  based  on  a  modification  of  Hamlet,  the  difference  con- 
sisting in  the  fact  that  my  hero  is  so  completely  carried  away 
by  the  appearance  of  the  ghost  of  his  father,  who  has  been 
murdered  under  similar  circumstances,  and  demands  venge- 
ance, that  he  is  driven  to  fearful  deeds  of  violence;  and,  with 
a  series  of  murders  on  his  conscience,  he  eventually  goes  mad. 
Leubald,  whose  character  is  a  mixture  of  Hamlet  and  Harry 


30  MY  LIFE 

Hotspur,  had  promised  his  father's  ghost  to  wipe  from  the  face 
of  the  earth  the  whole  race  of  Roderick,  as  the  ruthless  murderer 
of  the  best  of  fathers  was  named.  After  having  slain  Roderick 
himself  in  mortal  combat,  and  subsequently  all  his  sons  and 
other  relations  who  supported  him,  there  was  only  one  obstacle 
that  prevented  Leubald  from  fulfilling  the  dearest  wish  of  his 
heart,  which  was  to  be  united  in  death  with  the  shade  of  his 
father:  a  child  of  Roderick's  was  still  alive.  During  the 
storming  of  his  castle  the  murderer's  daughter  had  been  carried 
away  into  safety  by  a  faithful  suitor,  whom  she,  however, 
detested.  I  had  an  irresistible  impulse  to  call  this  maiden 
'  Adelaide.'  As  even  at  that  early  age  I  was  a  great  enthusiast 
for  everything  really  German,  I  can  only  account  for  the  ob- 
viously un-German  name  of  my  heroine  by  my  infatuation 
for  Beethoven's  Adelaide,  whose  tender  refrain  seemed  to  me 
the  symbol  of  all  loving  appeals.  The  course  of  my  drama  was 
now  characterised  by  the  strange  delays  which  took  place  in 
the  accomplishment  of  this  last  murder  of  vengeance,  the  chief 
obstacle  to  which  lay  in  the  sudden  passionate  love  which  arose 
between  Leubald  and  Adelaide.  I  succeeded  in  representing 
the  birth  and  avowal  of  this  love  by  means  of  extraordinary 
adventures.  Adelaide  was  once  more  stolen  away  by  a  robber- 
knight  from  the  lover  who  had  been  sheltering  her.  After 
Leubald  had  thereupon  sacrificed  the  lover  and  all  his  relations, 
he  hastened  to  the  robber's  castle,  driven  thither  less  by  a 
thirst  for  blood  than  by  a  longing  for  death.  For  this  reason 
he  regrets  his  inability  to  storm  the  robber's  castle  forthwith, 
because  it  is  well  defended,  and,  moreover,  night  is  fast  falling ; 
he  is  therefore  obliged  to  pitch  his  tent.  Alter  raving  for  a 
while  he  sinks  down  for  the  first  time  exhausted,  but  being 
urged,  like  his  prototype  Hamlet,  by  the  spirit  of  his  father  to 
complete  his  vow  of  vengeance,  he  himself  suddenly  falls  into 
the  power  of  the  enemy  during  a  night  assault.  In  the  subter- 
ranean dungeons  of  the  castle  he  meets  Roderick's  daughter 
for  the  first  time.  She  is  a  prisoner  like  himself,  and  is  craftily 
devising  flight.  Under  circumstances  in  which  she  produces 
on  him  the  impression  of  a  heavenly  vision,  she  makes  her 
appearance  before  him.  They  fall  in  love,  and  fly  together 
into  the  wilderness,  where  they  realise  that  they  are  deadly 


'LEUBALD    UND   ADELAIDE  >  31 

enemies.  The  incipient  insanity  which  was  already  noticeable 
in  Leubald  breaks  out  more  violently  after  this  discovery, 
and  everything  that  can  be  done  to  intensify  it  is  contributed 
by  the  ghost  of  his  father,  which  continually  comes  between 
the  advances  of  the  lovers.  But  this  ghost  is  not  the  only 
disturber  of  the  conciliating  love  of  Leubald  and  Adelaide. 
The  ghost  of  Roderick  also  appears,  and  according  to  the 
method  followed  by  Shakespeare  in  Richard  III.,  he  is  joined 
by  the  ghosts  of  all  the  other  members  of  Adelaide's  family 
whom  Leubald  has  slain.  From  the  incessant  importunities 
of  these  ghosts  Leubald  seeks  to  free  himself  by  means  of 
sorcery,  and  calls  to  his  aid  a  rascal  named  Flamming.  Ono 
of  Macbeth' s  witches  is  summoned  to  lay  the  ghosts;  as  she 
is  unable  to  do  this  efficiently,  the  furious  Leubald  sends  her 
also  to  the  devil;  but  with  her  dying  breath  she  despatches 
the  whole  crowd  of  spirits  who  serve  her  to  join  the  ghosts  of 
those  already  pursuing  him.  Leubald,  tormented  beyond 
endurance,  and  now  at  last  raving  mad,  turns  against  his 
beloved,  who  is  the  apparent  cause  of  all  his  misery.  He  stabs 
her  in  his  fury;  then  finding  himself  suddenly  at  peace,  he 
sinks  his  head  into  her  lap,  and  accepts  her  last  caresses  as  her 
life-blood  streams  over  his  own  dying  body. 

I  had  not  omitted  the  smallest  detail  that  could  give  this 
plot  its  proper  colouring,  and  had  drawn  on  all  my  knowledge 
of  the  tales  of  the  old  knights,  and  my  acquaintance  with  Lear 
and  Macbeth,  to  furnish  my  drama  with  the  most  vivid  situa- 
tions. But  one  of  the  chief  characteristics  of  its  poetical  form 
I  took  from  the  pathetic,  humorous,  and  powerful  language  of 
Shakespeare.  The  boldness  of  my  grandiloquent  and  bom- 
bastic expressions  roused  my  uncle  Adolph's  alarm  and  aston- 
ishment. He  was  unable  to  understand  how  I  could  have 
selected  and  used  with  inconceivable  exaggeration  precisely 
the  most  extravagant  forms  of  speech  to  be  found  in  Lear  and 
Gotz  von  Berlicliingen.  Nevertheless,  even  after  everybody  had 
deafened  me  with  their  laments  over  my  lost  time  and  per- 
verted talents,  I  was  still  conscious  of  a  wonderful  secret  solace 
in  the  face  of  the  calamity  that  had  befallen  me.  I  knew,  a 
fact  that  no  one  else  could  know,  namely,  that  my  work  could 
only  be  rightly  judged  when  set  to  the  music  which  I  had 


32  MY   LIFE 

resolved  to  write  for  it,  and  which  I  intended  to  start  composing 

immediately.  . 

-  I  must  now  explain  my  position  with  respect  to  music  hitherto. 
For  this  purpose  I  must  go  back  to  my  earliest  attempts  in 
the  art.  In  my  family  two  of  my  sisters  were  musical;  the 
elder  one,  Rosalie,  played  the  piano,  without,  however,  dis- 
playing any  marked  talent.  Clara  was  more  gifted;  in 
addition  to  a  great  deal  of  musical  feeling,  and  a  fine  rich 
touch  on  the  piano,  she  possessed  a  particularly  sympathetic 
voice  the  development  of  which  was  so  premature  and  remark- 
able that,  under  the  tuition  of  Mieksch,  her  singing  master, 
who  was  famous  at  that  time,  she  was  apparently  ready  for 
the  role  of  a  prima  donna  as  early  as  her  sixteenth  year,  and 
made  her  debut  at  Dresden  in  Italian  opera  as  '  Cenerentola ' 
in  Rossini's  opera  of  that  name.  Incidentally  I  may  remark 
that  this  premature  development  proved  injurious  to  Clara's 
voice,  and  was  detrimental  to  her  whole  career.  As  I  have 
said,  music  was  represented  in  our  family  by  these  two  sisters. 
It  was  chiefly  owing  to  Clara's  career  that  the  musical  con- 
ductor C.  M.  von  Weber  often  came  to  our  house.  His  visits 
were  varied  by  those  of  the  great  male-soprano  Sassaroli ;  and 
in  addition  to  these  two  representatives  of  German  and  Italian 
music,  we  also  had  the  company  of  Mieksch,  her  singing  master. 
It  was  on  these  occasions  that  I  as  a  child  first  heard  German 
and  Italian  music  discussed,  and  learnt  that  any  one  who 
wished  to  ingratiate  himself  with  the  Court  must  show  a  prefer- 
ence for  Italian  music,  a  fact  which  led  to  very  practical  results 
in  our  family  council.  Clara's  talent,  while  her  voice  was  still 
sound,  was  the  object  of  competition  between  the  representa- 
tives of  Italian  and  German  opera.  I  can  remember  quite 
distinctly  that  from  the  very  beginning  I  declared  myself  in 
favour  of  German  opera;  my  choice  was  determined  by  the 
tremendous  impression  made  on  me  by  the  two  figures  of 
/.Sassaroli  and  Weber.  The  Italian  male-soprano,  a  huge  pot- 
'  bellied  giant,  horrified  me  with  his  high  effeminate  voice,  his 
astonishing  volubility,  and  his  incessant  screeching  laughter. 
In  spite  of  his  boundless  good-nature  and  amiability,  particu- 
larly to  my  family,  I  took  an  uncanny  dislike  to  him.  On 
account  of  this  dreadful  person,  the  sound  of  Italian,  either 


C.    M.    VON   WEBER.     FREISCHUTZ  33 

spoken  or  sung,   seemed  to  my  ears   almost  diabolical;    and 
when,  in  consequence  of  my  poor  sister's  misfortune,  I  heard     ,  \Js 
them  often  talking  about  Italian  intrigues  and  cabals,  I  con-     \Y 
ceived    so    strong    a    dislike    for    everything    connected    with 
this   nation   that   even   in  much   later  years   I   used   to   feel 
myself  carried  away  by  an  impulse  of  utter  detestation  and 
abhorrence. 

The  less  frequent  visits  of  Weber,  on  the  other  hand,  seemed] 
to  have  produced  upon  me  those  first  sympathetic  impressions/ 
which  I  have  never  since  lost.  In  contrast  to  Sassaroli's  re-l 
pulsive  figure,  Weber's  really  refined,  delicate,  and  intellectual 
appearance  excited  my  ecstatic  admiration.  His  narrow  face 
and  finely-cut  features,  his  vivacious  though  often  half -closed 
eyes,  captivated  and  thrilled  me;  wrhilst  even  the  bad  limp 
with  which  he  walked,  and  which  I  often  noticed  from  our 
windows  when  the  master  was  making  his  way  home  past  our 
house  from  the  fatiguing  rehearsals,  stamped  the  great  musician 
in  my  imagination  as  an  exceptional  and  almost  superhuman 
being.  When,  as  a  boy  of  nine,  my  mother  introduced  me  to 
him,  and  he  asked  me  what  I  was  going  to  be,  whether  I  wanted 
perhaps  to  be  a  musician,  my  mother  told  him  that,  though  I 
was  indeed  quite  mad  on  Freischutz,  yet  she  had  as  yet  seen 
nothing  in  me  which  indicated  any  musical  talent 

This  showed  correct  observation  on  my  mother's  part; 
nothing  had  made  so  great  an  impression  on  me  as  the  music 
of  Freischutz,  and  I  tried  in  every  possible  way  to  procure  a 
repetition  of  the  impressions  I  had  received  from  it,  but, 
strange  to  say,  least  of  all  by  the  study  of  music  itself.  Instead 
of  this,  I  contented  myself  with  hearing  bits  from  Freischutz 
played  by  my  sisters.  Yet  my  passion  for  it  gradually  grew 
so  strong  that  I  can  remember  taking  a  particular  fancy  for  a 
young  man  called  Spiess,  chiefly  because  he  could  play  the 
overture  to  Freischutz,  which  I  used  to  ask  him  to  do  whenever 
I  met  him.  It  was  chiefly  the  introduction  to  this  overture 
which  at  last  led  me  to  attempt,  without  ever  having  received 
any  instruction  on  the  piano,  to  play  this  piece  in  my  own 
peculiar  way,  for,  oddly  enough,  I  was  the  only  child  in  our  j 
family  who  had  not  been  given  music  lessons.  This  was  prob-  \ 
ably  due  to  my  mother's  anxiety  to  keep  me  away  from  any  I 


34  MY   LIFE 

artisticjnteresteof .fluaJpnd  in  case  they  might  arouse  in  me 
a  li'iii^inir  fur  tho  theatre. 

.     When  I  was  about  twelve  years  old,  however,  my  mother 
(engaged  a  tutor  for  me  named  Humann,  from  whom  I  received 
(regular  music  lessons,  though  only  of  a  very  mediocre  descrip- 
tion.    As  soon  as  I  had  acquired  a  very  imperfect  knowledge 
of  fingering  I  begged  to  be  allowed  to  play  overtures  in  the 
form  of  duets,  always  keeping  Weber  as  the  goal  of  my  am- 
bition.   When  at  length  I  had  got  so  far  as  to  be  able  to  play 
the  overture  to  Freischiiiz  myself,  though  in  a  very  faulty 
manner,  I  felt  the  object  of  my  study  had  been  attained,  and 
I  had  no  inclination  to  devote  any  further  attention  to  per- 
fecting my  technique. 

Yet  I  had  attained  this  much:  I  was  no  longer  dependent 
for  music  on  the  playing  of  others;  from  this  time  forth  I 
used  to  try  and  play,  albeit  very  imperfectly,  everything  I 
wanted  to  know.  I  also  tried  Mozart's  Don  Juan,  but  was 
unable  to  get  any  pleasure  out  of  it,  mainly  because  the  Italian 
text  in  the  arrangement  for  the  piano  placed  the  music  in  a 
frivolous  light  in  my  eyes,  and  much  in  it  seemed  to  me  trivial 
and  unmanly.  (I  can  remember  that  when  my  sister  used 
to  sing  Zerlinen's  ariette,  Batti,  batii,  ben  Masetto,  the  music 
repelled  me,  as  it  seemed  so  mawkish  and  effeminate.) 

On  the  other  hand,  my  bent  for  music  grew  stronger  and 
stronger,  and  I  now  tried  to  possess  myself  of  my  favourite 
pieces  by  making  my  own  copies.  I  can  remember  the  hesi- 
tation with  which  my  mother  for  the  first  time  gave  me  the 
money  to  buy  the  scored  paper  on  which  I  copied  out  Weber's 
Lutzow's  Jagd,  which  was  the  first  piece  of  music  I  transcribed. 
Music  was  still  a  secondary  occupation  with  me  when  the 
news  of  Weber's  death  and  the  longing  to  learn  his  music  to 
Oberon  fanned  my  enthusiasm  into  flame  again.  This  received 
fresh  impetus  from  the  afternoon  concerts  in  the  Grosser 
Garten  at  Dresden,  where  I  often  heard  my  favourite  music 
played  by  Zillmann's  Town  Band,  as  I  thought,  exceedingly 
well.  The  mysterious  joy  I  felt  in  hearing  an  orchestra  play 
quite  close  to  me  still  remains  one  of  my  most  pleasant  memo- 
ries. The  mere  tuning  up  of  the  instruments  put  me  in  a  state 
of  mystic  excitement;  even  the  striking  of  fifths  on  the  violin 


MUSIC    IN    THE    GROSSEK    GARTEN  35 

seemed  to  me  like  a  greeting  from  the  spirit  world  —  which,  I 
may  mention  incidentally,  had  a  very  real  meaning  for  me. 
When  I  was  still  almost  a  baby,  the  sound  of  these  fifths,  which 
has  always  excited  me,  was  closely  associated  in  my  mind 
with  ghosts  and  spirits.  I  remember  that  even  much  later  in 
life  I  could  never  pass  the  small  palace  of  Prince  Anthony,  at 
the  end  of  the  Ostra  Alice  in  Dresden,  without  a  shudder ;  for  it 
was  there  I  had  first  heard  the  sound  of  a  violin,  a  very  common 
experience  to  me  afterwards.  It  was  close  by  me,  and  seemed 
to  my  ears  to  come  from  the  stone  figures  with  which  this 
palace  is  adorned,  some  of  which  are  provided  with  musical 
instruments.  When  I  took  up  my  post  as  musical  conductor 
at  Dresden,  and  had  to  pay  my  official  visit  to  Morgenroth, 
the  President  of  the  Concert  Committee,  an  elderly  gentleman 
who  lived  for  many  years  opposite  that  princely  palace,  it 
seemed  odd  to  find  that  the  player  of  fifths  who  had  so  strongly 
impressed  my  musical  fancy  as  a  boy  was  anything  but  a  super- 
natural spectre.  And  when  I  saw  the  well-known  picture  in 
which  a  skeleton  plays  on  his  violin  to  an  old  man  on  his 
deathbed,  the  ghostly  character  of  those  very  notes  impressed 
itself  with  particular  force  upon  my  childish  imagination. 
When  at  last,  as  a  young  man,  I  used  to  listen  to  the  Zillmann 
Orchestra  in  the  Grosser  Garten  almost  every  afternoon,  one 
may  imagine  the  rapturous  thrill  with  which  I  drew  in  all 
the  chaotic  variety  of  sound  that  I  heard  as  the  orchestra 
tuned  up:  the  long  drawn  A  of  the  oboe,  which  seemed  like 
a  call  from  the  dead  to  rouse  the  other  instruments,  never 
failed  to  raise  all  my  nerves  to  a  feverish  pitch  of  tension, 
and  when  the  swelling  C  in  the  overture  to  Freischiitz  told  me 
that  I  had  stepped,  as  it  were  with  both  feet,  right  into  the 
magic  realm  of  awe.  Any  one  who  had  been  watching  me  at 
that  moment  could  hardly  have  failed  to  see  the  state  I  was 
in,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  was  such  a  bad  performer 
on  the  piano. 

Another  work  also  exercised  a  great  fascination  over  me, 
namely,  the  overture  to  Fidelio  in  E  major,  the  introduction 
to  which  affected  me  deeply.  I  asked  my  sisters  about 
Beethoven,  and  learned  that  the  news  of  his  death  had  just 
arrived.  Obsessed  as  I  still  was  by  the  terrible  grief  causec 


36  MY   LIFE 

by  Weber's  death,  this  fresh  loss,  due  to  the  decease  of  this 
great  master  of  melody,  who  had  only  just  entered  my  life, 
filled  me  with  strange  anguish,  a  feeling  nearly  akin  to  my 
(childish  dread  of  the  ghostly  fifths  on  the  violin.  It  was  now 
\Beethoven's  music  that  I  longed  to  know  more  thoroughly; 
/I  came  to  Leipzig,  and  found  his  music  to  Egmont  on  the  piano 
at  my  sister  Louisa's.  After  that  I  tried  to  get  hold  of  his 
sonatas.  At  last,  at  a  concert  at  the  Gewandthaus,  I  heard 
pne  of  the  master's  symphonies  for  the  first  time;  it  was  the 
ymphony  in  A  major.  The  effect  on  me  was  indescribable. 
To  this  must  be  added  the  impression  produced  on  me  by 
Beethoven's  features,  which  I  saw  in  the  lithographs  that 
were  circulated  everywhere  at  that  time,  and  by  the  fact  that 
he  was  deaf,  and  lived  a  quiet  secluded  life.  I  soon  conceived 
an  image  of  him  in  my  mind  as  a  sublime  and  unique  super- 
natural being,  with  whom  none  could  compare.  This  image 
was  associated  in  my  brain  with  that  of  Shakespeare;  in  ecs- 
tatic dreams  I  met  both  of  them,  saw  and  spoke  to  them,  and 
on  awakening  found  myself  bathed  in  tears. 

It  was  at  this  time  that  I  came  across  Mozart's  Requiem, 
which  formed  the  starting-point  of  my  enthusiastic  absorption 
in  the  works  of  that  master.  His  second  finale  to  Don  Juan 
inspired  me  to  include  him  in  my  spirit  world. 

I  was  now  filled  with  a  desire  to  compose,  as  I  had  before 
been  to  write  verse.  I  had,  however,  in  this  case  to  master 
the  technique  of  an  entirely  separate  and  complicated  subject. 
This  presented  greater  difficulties  than  I  had  met  with  in 
writing  verse,  which  came  to  me  fairly  easily.  It  was  these 
difficulties  that  drove  me  to  adopt  a  career  which  bore  some 
resemblance  to  that  of  a  professional  musician,  whose  future 
distinction  would  be  to  win  the  titles  of  Conductor  and  Writer 
of  Opera. 

I  now  wanted  to  set  Leubald  und  Adelaide  to  music, 
similar  to  that  which  Beethoven  wrote  to  Goethe's  Egmont; 
the  various  ghosts  from  the  spirit  world,  who  were  each  to 
display  different  characteristics,  were  to  borrow  their  own  dis- 
tinctive colouring  from  appropriate  musical  accompaniment. 
In  order  to  acquire  the  necessary  technique  of  composition 
quickly  I  studied  Logier's  Methode  des  Generalbasses,  a  wor-1; 


SECKET    STUDY    OF   HARMONY  37 

which  was  specially  recommended  to  me  at  a  musical  lending 
library  as  a  suitable  text-book  from  which  this  art  might  be 
easily  mastered.  I  have  distinct  recollections  that  the  financial 
difficulties  with  which  I  was  continually  harassed  throughout 
my  life  began  at  this  time.  I  borrowed  Logier's  book  on  the 
weekly  payment  system,  in  the  fond  hope  of  having  to  pay  for 
it  only  during  a  few  weeks  out  of  the  savings  of  my  weekly 
pocket-money.  But  the  weeks  ran  on  into  months,  and  I 
was  still  unable  to  compose  as  well  as  I  wished.  Mr.  Frederick 
Wieck,  whose  daughter  afterwards  married  Robert  Schumann, 
was  at  that  time  the  proprietor  of  that  lending  library.  He 
kept  sending  me  troublesome  reminders  of  the  debt  I  owed  him ; 
and  when  my  bill  had  almost  reached  the  price  of  Logier's 
book  I  had  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  the  matter  to  my  family, 
who  thus  not  only  learnt  of  my  financial  difficulties  in  general, 
but  also  of  my  latest  transgression  into  the  domain  of  music, 
from  which,  of  course,  at  the  very  most,  they  expected  nothing 
better  than  a  repetition  of  Leubald  und  Adelaide. 

There  was  great  consternation  at  home;  my  mother,  sister, 
and  brother-in-law,  with  anxious  faces,  discussed  how  my 
studies  should  be  superintended  in  future,  to  prevent  my  hav- 
ing any  further  opportunity  for  transgressing  in  this  way.  No 
one,  however,  yet  knew  the  real  state  of  affairs  at  school,  and 
they  hoped  I  would  soon  see  the  error  of  my  ways  in  this  case 
as  I  had  in  my  former  craze  for  poetry. 

But  other  domestic  changes  were  taking  place  which  necessi.-' 
tated  my  being  for  some  little  time  alone  in  our  house  at  i 
Leipzig  during  the  summer  of  1829,  when  I  was  left  entirely  . 
to  my  own  devices.    It  was  during  this  period  that  my  passion  \ 
for  music  rose  to  an  extraordinary  degree.      I  had  .secretly 
been  taking  lessons  in  harmony  from  G.  Miiller,   afterwards 
organist  at  Altenburg,  an  excellent  musician  belonging  to  the 
Leipzig   orchestra.      Although   the   payment   of   these   lessons 
was  also  destined  to  get  me  into  hot  water  at  home  later  on, 
I  could  not  even  make  up  to  my  teacher  for  the  delay  in  the  / 
payment  of  his  fees  by  giving  him  the  pleasure  of  watching; 
me  improve  in  my  studies.     His  teaching  and  exercises  soon  I 
filled  me  with  the  greatest  disgust,  as  to  my  mind  it  all  seemed  I 
so  dry.    For  me  music  was  a  spirit,  a  noble  and  mystic  monster,  / 

!  8 

U  «. 


38  MY   LIFE 

and  any  attempt  to  regulate  it  seemed  to  lower  it  in  my  eyes. 
I  gathered  much  more  congenial  instruction  about  it  from 
Hoffmann's  Phantasiestucken  than  from  my  Leipzig  orchestra 
player;  and  now  came  the  time  when  I  really  lived  and 
breathed  in  Hoffmann's  artistic  atmosphere  of  ghosts  and 
spirits.  With  my  head  quite  full  of  Kreissler,  Krespel,  and 
other  musical  spectres  from  my  favourite  author,  I  imagined 
that  I  had  at  last  found  in  real  life  a  creature  who  resembled 
them :  this  ideal  musician  in  whom  for  a  time  I  fancied  I  had 
discovered  a  second  Kreissler  was  a  man  called  Flachs.  He 
was  a  tall,  exceedingly  thin  man,  with  a  very  narrow  head  and 
an  extraordinary  way  of  walking,  moving,  and  speaking,  whom 
;I  had  seen  at  all  those  open-air  concerts  which  formed  my 
I  principal  source  of  musical  education.  He  was  always  with 
the  members  of  the  orchestra,  speaking  exceedingly  quickly, 
first  to  one  and  then  the  other;  for  they  all  knew  him,  and 
seemed  to  like  him.  The  fact  that  they  were  making  fun  of 
him  I  only  learned,  to  my  great  confusion,  much  later.  I 
remember  having  noticed  this  strange  figure  from  my  earliest 
days  in  Dresden,  and  I  gathered  from  the  conversations  which 
I  overheard  that  he  was  indeed  well  known  to  all  Dresden 
musicians.  This  circumstance  alone  was  sufficient  to  make 
me  take  a  great  interest  in  him ;  but  the  point  about  him  which 
attracted  me  more  than  anything  was  the  manner  in  which 
he  listened  to  the  various  items  in  the  programme:  he  used 
to  give  peculiar,  convulsive  nods  of  his  head,  and  blow  out  his 
cheeks  as  though  with  sighs.  All  this  I  regarded  as  a  sign  of 
spiritual  ecstasy.  I  noticed,  moreover,  that  he  was  quite  alone, 
that  he  belonged  to  no  party,  and  paid  no  attention  to  anything 
in  the  garden  save  the  music;  whereupon  my  identification  of 
this  curious  being  with  the  conductor  Kreissler  seemed  quite 
natural.  I  was  determined  to  make  his  acquaintance,  and  I 
succeeded  in  doing  so.  Who  shall  describe  my  delight  when, 
on  going  to  call  on  him  at  his  rooms  for  the  first  time,  I  found 
innumerable  bundles  of  scores!  I  had  as  yet  never  seen  a 
score.  It  is  true  I  discovered,  to  my  regret,  that  he  possessed 
nothing  either  by  Beethoven,  Mozart,  or  Weber ;  in  fact,  noth- 
ing but  immense  quantities  of  works,  masses,  and  cantatas  by 
composers  such  as  Staerkel,  Stamitz,  Steibelt,  etc.,  all  of  whom 


FLACHS    AS   A   SHAM   KEEISSLEK  39 

were  entirely  unknown  to  me.  Yet  Flachs  was  able  to  tell  me 
so  much  that  was  good  about  them  that  the  respect  which  I 
felt  for  scores  in  general  helped  me  to  overcome  my  regret  at 
not  finding  anything  by  my  beloved  masters.  It  is  true  I 
learnt  later  that  poor  Flachs  had  only  come  into  the  possession 
of  these  particular  scores  through  unscrupulous  dealers,  who 
had  traded  on  his  weakness  of  intellect  and  palmed  off  this 
worthless  music  on  him  for  large  sums  of  money.  At  all  events, 
they  were  scores,  and  that  was  quite  enough  for  me.  Flachs 
and  I  became  most  intimate;  we  were  always  seen  going  about 
together  —  I,  a  lanky  boy  of  sixteen,  and  this  weird,  shakj 
flaxpole.  The  doors  of~my  deserted  home  were  often  openec 
for  this  strange  guest,  who  made  me  play  my  compositions  to 
him  while  he  ate  bread  and  cheese.  In  return,  he  once 
arranged  one  of  my  airs  for  wind  instruments,  and,  to  my* 
astonishment,  it  was  actually  accepted  and  played  by  the  band! 
in  Kintschy's  Swiss  Chalet.  That  this  man  had  not  thel 
smallest  capacity  to  teach  me  anything  never  once  occurred 
to  me;  I  was  so  firmly  convinced  of  his  originality  that  there 
was  no  need  for  him  to  prove  it  further  than  by  listening 
patiently  to  my  enthusiastic  outpourings.  But  as,  in  course 
of  time,  several  of  his  own  friends  joined  us,  I  could  not  help 
noticing  that  the  worthy  Flachs  was  regarded  by  them  all  as 
a  half-witted  fool.  At  first  this  merely  pained  me,  but  a 
strange  incident  unexpectedly  occurred  which  converted  me  to 
the  general  opinion  about  him.  Flachs  was  a  man  of  some 
means,  and  had  fallen  into  the  toils  of  a  young  lady  of  dubious 
character  who  he  believed  was  deeply  in  love  with  him.  One 
day,  without  warning,  I  found  his  house  closed  to  me,  and 
discovered,  to  my  astonishment,  that  jealousy  was  the  cause. 
The  unexpected  discovery  of  this  liaison,  which  was  my  first 
experience  of  such  a  case,  filled  me  with  a  strange  horror.  My 
friend  suddenly  appeared  to  me  even  more  mad  than  he  really 
was.  I  felt  so  ashamed  of  my  persistent  blindness  that  for 
some  time  to  come  I  never  went  to  any  of  the  garden  concerts 
for  fear  I  should  meet  my  sham  Kreissler. 

By  this  time  I  had  composed  my  first  Sonata  in  D  minor. 
I  had  also  begun  a  pastoral  play,  and  had  worked  it  out  in 
what  I  felt  sure  must  be  an  entirely  unprecedented  way. 


40  MY   LIFE 

I  chose  Goethe's  Laune  der  Verliebten  as  a  model  for  the  form 
and  plot  of  my  work.  I  scarcely  even  drafted  out  the  libretto, 
however,  but  worked  it  out  at  the  same  time  as  the  music  and 
orchestration,  so  that,  while  I  was  writing  out  one  page  of 
the  score,  I  had  not  even  thought  out  the  words  for  the 
next  page.  I  remember  distinctly  that  following  this  extra- 
ordinary method,  although  I  had  not  acquired  the  slightest 
knowledge  about  writing  for  instruments,  I  actually  worked 
out  a  fairly  long  passage  which  finally  resolved  itself  into  a 
scene  for  three  female  voices  followed  by  the  air  for  the  tenor. 
My  bent  for  writing  for  the  orchestra  was  so  strong  that  I 
procured  a  score  of  Don  Juan,  and  set  to  work  on  what  I  then 
considered  a  very  careful  orchestration  of  a  fairly  long  air  for 
soprano.  I  also  wrote  a  quartette  in  D  major  after  I  had 
myself  sufficiently  mastered  the  alto  for  the  viola,  my  ignorance 
of  which  had  caused  me  great  difficulty  only  a  short  time  be- 
fore, when  I  was  studying  a  quartette  by  Haydn. 

Armed  with  these  works,  I  set  out  in  the  summer  on  my 
'  first  journey  as  a  musician.    My  sister  Clara,  who  was  married 
to  the  singer  Wolfram,  had  an  engagement  at  the  theatre  at 
Magdeburg,  whither,  in  characteristic  fashion,  I  set  forth  upon 
my  adventure  on  foot. 

My  short  stay  with  my  relations  provided  me  with  many 
experiences  of  musical  life.  It  was  there  that  I  met  a  new 
freak,  whose  influence  upon  me  I  have  never  been  able  to  forget. 
,  He  was  a  musical  conductor  of  the  name  of  Kiihnlein,  a  most 
I  extraordinary  person.  Already  advanced  in  years,  delicate 
'  and,  unfortunately,  given  to  drink,  this  man  nevertheless  im- 
pressed one  by  something  striking  and  vigorous  in  his  ex- 
pression. His  chief  characteristics  were  an  enthusiastic 
worship  of  Mozart  and  a  passionate  depreciation  of  Weber. 
He  had  read  only  one  book  —  Goethe's  Faust  —  and  in  this 
work  there  was  not  a  page  in  which  he  had  not  underlined  some 
passage,  and  made  some  remark  in  praise  of  Mozart  or  in 
disparagement  of  Weber.  It  was  to  this  man  that  my  brother- 
in-law  confided  the  compositions  which  I  had  brought  with 
me  in  order  to  learn  his  opinion  of  my  abilities.  One  evening, 
as  we  were  sitting  comfortably  in  an  inn,  old  Kiihnlein  came  in, 
and  approached  us  with  a  friendly,  though  serious  manner. 


CONDUCTOR  KUHNLEIN  41 

I  thought  I  read  good  news  in  his  features,  but  when  my 
brother-in-law  asked  him  what  he  thought  of  my  work,  he 
answered  quietly  and  calmly,  l  There  is  not  a  single  good  note 
in  it ! '  My  brother-in-law,  who  was  accustomed  to  Kiihnlein's 
eccentricity,  gave  a  loud  laugh  which  reassured  me  somewhat. 
It  was  impossible  to  get  any  advice  or  coherent  reasons  for  his 
opinion  out  of  Kiihnlein;  he  merely  renewed  his  abuse  of 
Weber  and  made  some  references  to  Mozart  which,  neverthe- 
less, made  a  deep  impression  upon  me,  as  Kuhnlein's  language 
was  always  very  heated  and  emphatic. 

On  the  other  hand,  this  visit  brought  me  a  great  treasu 
which  was  responsible  for  leading  me  in  a  very  different  din 
tion  from  that  advised  by  Kiihnlein.     This  was  the  score  o 
Beethoven's  great  Quartette  in  E  flat  major,  which  had  onl 
been  fairly  recently  published,  and  of  which  my  brother-in-law 
had  a  copy  made  for  me.     Richer  in  experience,  and  in  the 
possession  of  this  treasure,  I  returned  to  Leipzig  to  the  nursery 
of  my  queer  musical  studies.    But  my  family  had  now  returned 
with  my  sister  Rosalie,  and  I  could  no  longer  keep  secret  from 
them  the  fact  that  my  connection  with  the  school  had  been 
entirely  suspended,  for  a  notice  was  found  saying  that  I  had 
not  attended  the  school  for  the  last  six  months.     As  a  com- 
plaint addressed  by  the  rector  to  my  uncle  about  me  had  not 
received  adequate  attention,  the  school  authorities  had  appar- 
ently made  no  further  attempts  to  exercise   any  supervision 
over  me,  which  I  had  indeed  rendered  quite  impossible  by 
absenting  myself  altogether. 

A  fresh  council  of  war  was  held  in  the  family  to  discuss 
what  was  to  be  done  with  me.     As  I  laid  particular  stress  on 
my  bent  for  music,  my  relations  thought  that  I  ought,  at  any 
rate,  to  learn  one  instrument  thoroughly.     My  brother-in-law, 
Brockhaus,  proposed  to  send  me  to  Hummel,  at  Weimar,  tot 
be  trained   as   a  pianist,   but   as  I  loudly   protested  that  by  I 
*  music '  I  meant  '  composing,'   and  not  '  playing  an  instru-  J 
ment,'   they  gave  way,   and  decided  to  let  me  have  regular  I 
lessons  in  harmony  from  Miiller,  the  very  musician  from  whom  < 
I  had  had  instruction  on  the  sly  some  little  while  before,  and 
who  had  not  yet  been  paid.     In  return  for  this  I  promised  • 
faithfully  to  go  back  to  work  conscientiously  at  St.  Nicholas's! 


42  MY   LIFE 

/School.  I  soon  grew  tired  of  both.  I  could  brook  no  control, 
and  this  unfortunately  applied  to  my  musical  instruction  as 
well.  The  dry  study  of  harmony  disgusted  me  more  and  more, 
though  I  continued  to  conceive  fantasias,  sonatas,  and  over- 
tures, and  work  them  out  by  myself.  On  the  other  hand,  I 
was  spurred  on  by  ambition  to  show  what  I  could  do  at  school 
if  I  liked.  When  the  Upper  School  boys  were  set  the  task  of 
writing  a  poem,  I  composed  a  chorus  in  Greek,  on  the  recent 
War  of  Liberation.  I  can  well  imagine  that  this  Greek  poem 
had  about  as  much  resemblance  to  a  real  Greek  oration  and 
poetry,  as  the  sonatas  and  overtures  I  used  to  compose  at  that 
time  had  to  thoroughly  professional  music.  My  attempt  was 
scornfully  rejected  as  a  piece  of  impudence.  After  that  I 
have  no  further  recollections  of  my  school.  My  continued 
attendance  was  a  pure  sacrifice  on  my  side,  made  out  of  con- 
sideration for  my  family:  I  did  not  pay  the  slightest  atten- 
tion to  what  was  taught  in  the  lessons,  but  secretly  occupied 
myself  all  the  while  with  reading  any  book  that  happened  to 
attract  me. 

As  my  musical  instruction  also  did  me  no  good,  I  continued 
in  my  wilful  process  of  self-education  by  copying  out  the 
scores  of  my  beloved  masters,  and  in  so  doing  acquired  a 
neat  handwriting,  which  in  later  years  has  often  been  ad- 
mired. I  believe  my  copies  of  the  C  minor  Symphony  and 
the  Ninth  Symphony  by  Beethoven  are  still  preserved  as 
souvenirs. 

Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony  became  the  mystical  goal  of  all 
my  strange  thoughts  and  desires  about  music.  I  was  first 
attracted  to  it  by  the  opinion  prevalent  among  musicians, 
not  only  in  Leipzig  but  elsewhere,  that  this  work  had  been 
written  by  Beethoven  when  he  was  already  half  mad.  It  was 
considered  the  non  plus  ultra  of  all  that  was  fantastic  and 
incomprehensible,  and  this  was  quite  enough  to  rouse  in  me  a 
passionate  desire  to  study  this  mysterious  work.  At  the  very 
first  glance  at  the  score,  of  which  I  obtained  possession  with  such 
difficulty,  I  felt  irresistibly  attracted  by  the  long-sustained 
pure  fifths  with  which  the  first  phrase  opens:  these  chords, 
which,  as  I  related  above,  had  played  such  a  supernatural 
part  in  my  childish  impressions  of  music,  seemed  in  this  case 


THE  NINTH  SYMPHONY.     VIOLIN  LESSONS    43 

to  form  the  spiritual  keynote  of  my  own  life.  This,  I  thought, 
must  surely  contain  the  secret  of  all  secrets,  and  accordingly 
the  first  thing  to  be  done  was  to  make  the  score  my  own  by  a 
process  of  laborious  copying.  I  well  remember  that  on  one 
occasion  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  dawn  made  such  an 
uncanny  impression  on  my  excited  nerves  that  I  jumped  into 
bed  with  a  scream  as  though  I  had  seen  a  ghost.  The  symphony 
at  that  time  had  not  yet  been  arranged  for  the  piano;  it  had 
found  so  little  favour  that  the  publisher  did  not  feel  inclined: 
to  run  the  risk  of  producing  it.  I  set  to  work  at  it,  and  actually! 
composed  a  complete  piano  solo,  which  I  tried  to  play  to  myself. 
I  sent  my  work  to  Schott,  the  publisher  of  the  score,  at  Mainz. 
I  received  in  reply  a  letter  saying  '  that  the  publishers  had  not 
yet  decided  to  issue  the  Ninth  Symphony  for  the  piano,  but 
that  they  would  gladly  keep  my  laborious  work,'  and  offered 
me  remuneration  in  the  shape  of  the  score  of  the  great  Missa 
Solemnis  in  D,  which  I  accepted  with  great  pleasure. 

In  addition  to  this  work  I  practised  the  violin  for  some  time, 
as  my  harmony  master  very  rightly  considered  that  some  knowl- 
edge of  the  practical  working  of  this  instrument  was  indis- 
pensable for  any  one  who  had  the  intention  of  composing  for 
the  orchestra.  My  mother,  indeed,  paid  the  violinist  Sipp  (who 
was  still  playing  in  the  Leipzig  orchestra  in  1865)  eight  thalers 
for  a  violin  (I  do  not  know  what  became  of  it),  with  which 
for  quite  three  months  I  must  have  inflicted  unutterable  torture 
upon  my  mother  and  sister  by  practising  in  my  tiny  little 
room.  I  got  so  far  as  to  play  certain  Variations  in  F  sharp 
by  Mayseder,  but  only  reached  the  second  or  third.  After 
that  I  have  no  further  recollections  of  this  practising,  in  which 
my  family  fortunately  had  very  good  reasons  of  their  own  for 
not  encouraging  me. 

But  the  time  now  arrived  when  my  interest  in  the  theatre 
again  took  a  passionate  hold  upon  me.  A  new  company 
had  been  formed  in  my  birthplace  under  very  good  auspices. 
The  Board  of  Management  of  the  Court  Theatre  at  Dresden 
had  taken  over  the  management  of  the  Leipzig  theatre  for 
three  years.  My  sister  Rosalie  was  a  member  of  the  company, 
and  through  her  I  could  always  gain  admittance  to  the  per- 
formances; and  that  which  in  my  childhood  had  been  merely 


44  MY   LIFE 

the  interest  aroused  by  a  strange  spirit  of  curiosity  now  became 
a  more  deep-seated  and  conscious  passion. 

Julius  Cassar,  Macbeth,  Hamlet,  the  plays  of  Schiller,  and 
to  crown  all,  Goethe's  Faust,  excited  and  stirred  me  deeply. 
The  Opera  was  giving  the  first  performances  of  Marschner's 
Vampir  and  Templer  und  Jiidin.  The  Italian  company  ar- 
rived from  Dresden,  and  fascinated  the  Leipzig  audience  by 
their  consummate  mastery  of  their  art.  Even  I  was  almost 
carried  away  by  the  enthusiasm  with  which  the  town  was  over- 
whelmed, into  forgetting  the  boyish  impressions  which  Signor 
Sassaroli  had  stamped  upon  my  mind,  when  another  miracle 
—  which  also  came  to  us  from  Dresden  —  suddenly  gave  a  new 
direction  to  my  artistic  feelings  and  exercised  a  decisive  influ- 
ence over  my  whole  life.  This  consisted  of  a  special  per- 
formance given  by  Wilhelmine  Schroder-Devrient,  who  at  that 
time  was  at  the  zenith  of  her  artistic  career,  young,  beautiful, 
and  ardent,  and  whose  like  I  have  never  again  seen  on  the 
stage.  She  made  her  appearance  in  Fidelio. 

If  I  look  back  on  my  life  as  a  whole,  I  can  find  no  event 
that  produced  so  profound  an  impression  .upon  me.  Any  one 
who  can  remember  that  wonderful  woman  at  this  period  of  her 
life  must  to  some  extent  have  experienced  the  almost  satanic 
ardour  which  the  intensely  human  art  of  this  incomparable 
actress  poured  into  his  veins.  After  the  performance  I  rushed 
to  a  friend's  house  and  wrote  a  short  note  to  the  singer,  in 
which  I  briefly  told  her  that  from  that  moment  my  life  had 
acquired  its  true  significance,  and  that  if  in  days  to  come  she 
should  ever  hear  my  name  praised  in  the  world  of  Art,  she 
must  remember  that  she  had  that  evening  made  me  what  I 
then  swore  it  was  my  destiny  to  become.  This  note  I  left  at 
her  hotel,  and  ran  out  into  the  night  as  if  I  were  mad.  In  the 
year  1842,  when  I  went  to  Dresden  to  make  my  debut  with 
Rienzi,  I  paid  several  visits  to  the  kind-hearted  singer,  who 
,  startled  me  on  one  occasion  by  repeating  this  letter  word  for 
word.  It  seemed  to  have  made  an  impression  on  her  too,  as 
she  had  actually  kept  it. 

At  this  point  I  feel  myself  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  the 
great  confusion  which  now  began  to  prevail  in  my  life,  and 
particularly  in  my  studies,  was  due  to  the  inordinate  effect 


EFFECT   OF   SCHRODEK-DEVKIENT'S   AET     45 

this  artistic  interpretation  had  upon  me.  I  did  not  know 
where  to  turn,  or  how  to  set  about  producing  something  my- 
self which  might  place  me  in  direct  contact  with  the  impres- 
sion I  had  received,  while  everything  that  could  not  be 
brought  into  touch  with  it  seemed  to  me  so  shallow  and  mean- 
ingless that  I  could  not  possibly  trouble  myself  with  it.  I 
should  have  liked  to  compose  a  work  worthy  of  a  Schroder- 
Devrient ;  but  as  this  was  quite  beyond  my  power,  in  my  head- 
long despair  I  let  all  artistic  endeavour  slide,  and  as  my  work 
was  also  utterly  insufficient  to  absorb  me,  I  flung  myself 
recklessly  into  the  life  of  the  moment  in  the  company  of  / 
strangely  chosen  associates,  and  indulged  in  all  kinds  of  youth- ' 
ful  excesses. 

I  now  entered  into  all  the  dissipations  of  raw  manhood,  the, 
outward  ugliness  and  inward  emptiness  of  which  make  me 
marvel  to  this  day.  My  intercourse  with  those  of  my  own  age  \ 
had  always  been  the  result  of  pure  chance.  I  cannot  remember 
that  any  special  inclination  or  attraction  determined  me  in 
the  choice  of  my  young  friends.  While  I  can  honestly  say 
that  I  was  never  in  a  position  to  stand  aloof  out  of  envy  from 
any  one  who  was  specially  gifted,  I  can  only  explain  my  indiffer- 
ence in  the  choice  of  my  associates  by  the  fact  that  through 
inexperience  regarding  the  sort  of  companionship  that  would 
be  of  advantage  to  me,  I  cared  only  to  have  some  one  who 
would  accompany  me  in  my  excursions,  and  to  whom  I  could 
pour  out  my  feelings  to  my  heart's  content  without  caring  what 
effect  it  might  have  upon  him.  The  result  of  this  was  that 
after  a  stream  of  confidences  to  which  my  own  excitement 
was  the  only  response,  I  at  length  reached  the  point  when  I 
turned  and  looked  at  my  friend;  to  my  astonishment  I  gener- 
ally found  that  there  was  no  question  of  response  at  all,  and 
as  soon  as  I  set  my  heart  on  drawing  something  from  him  in 
return,  and  urged  him  to  confide  in  me,  when  he  really  had 
nothing  to  tell,  the  connection  usually  came  to  an  end  and  left 
no  trace  on  my  life.  In  a  certain  sense  my  strange  relation- 
ship with  Flachs  was  typical  of  the  great  majority  of  my  ties 
in  after-life.  Consequently,  as  no  lasting  personal  bond  of 
friendship  ever  found  its  way  into  my  life,  it  is  easy  to  under- 
stand how  delight  in  the  dissipations  of  student  life  could  become 


46  MY   LIFE 

a  passion  of  some  duration,  because  in  it  individual  intercourse 
is  entirely  replaced  by  a  common  circle  of  acquaintances.  In 
the  midst  of  rowdyism  and  ragging  of  the  most  foolish  de- 
scription I  remained  quite  alone,  and  it  is  quite  possible  that 
these  frivolities  formed  a  protecting  hedge  round  my  inmost 
soul,  which  needed  time  to  grow  to  its  natural  strength  and  not 
be  weakened  by  reaching  maturity  too  soon. 

My  life  seemed  to  break  up  in  all  directions ;  I  had  to  leave 
St  Nicholas's  School  at  Easter  1830,  as  I  was  too  deeply  in  dis- 
grace with  the  staff  of  masters  ever  to  hope  for  any  promotion 
in  the  University  from  that  quarter.  It  was  now  determined 
that  I  should  study  privately  for  six  months  and  then  go  to 
St.  Thomas's  School,  where  I  should  be  in  fresh  surroundings 
and  be  able  to  work  up  and  qualify  in  a  short  time  for  the 
University.  My  uncle  Adolph,  with  whom  I  was  constantly 
renewing  my  friendship,  and  who  also  encouraged  me  about 
my  music  and  exercised  a  good  influence  over  me  in  that  re- 
spect, in  spite  of  the  utter  degradation  of  my  life  at  that  time, 
kept  arousing  in  me  an  ever  fresh  desire  for  scientific  studies. 
I  took  private  lessons  in  Greek  from  a  scholar,  and  read 
Sophocles  with  him.  For  a  time  I  hoped  this  noble  poet  would 
again  inspire  me  to  get  a  real  hold  on  the  language,  but  the 
hope  was  vain.  I  had  not  chosen  the  right  teacher,  and, 
moreover,  his  sitting-room  in  which  we  pursued  our  studies 
looked  out  on  a  tanyard,  the  repulsive  odour  of  which  affected 
my  nerves  so  strongly  that  I  became  thoroughly  disgusted 
both  with  Sophocles  and  Greek.  My  brother-in-law,  Brock- 
haus,  who  wanted  to  put  me  in  the  way  of  earning  some  pocket- 
money,  gave  me  the  correcting  of  the  proof-sheets  of  a  new 
edition  he  was  bringing  out  of  Becker's  Universal  History, 
revised  by  Lobell.  This  gave  me  a  reason  for  improving  by 
private  study  the  superficial  general  instruction  on  every  sub- 
ject which  is  given  at  school,  and  I  thus  acquired  the  valuable 
knowledge  which  I  was  destined  to  have  in  later  life  of  most 
of  the  branches  of  learning  so  uninterestingly  taught  in  class. 
I  must  not  forget  to  mention  that,  to  a  certain  extent,  the  at- 
traction exercised  over  me  by  this  first  closer  study  of  history 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  it  brought  me  in  eightpence  a  sheet, 
and  I  thus  found  myself  in  one  of  the  rarest  positions  in  my  life, 


JULY   REVOLUTION   IN   PARIS  47 

actually  earning  money;  yet  I  should  be  doing  myself  an 
injustice  if  I  did  not  bear  in  mind  the  vivid  impressions  I  now 
for  the  first  time  received  upon  turning  my  serious  attention 
to  those  periods  of  history  with  which  I  had  hitherto  had  a 
very  superficial  acquaintance."^  All  I  recollect  about  my  school 
days  in  this  connection  is  that  I  was  attracted  by  the  classical 
period  of  Greek  history ;  Marathon,  Salamis,  and  Thermopylae 
composed  the  canon  of  all  that  interested  me  in  the  subject, 
Now  for  the  first  time  I  made  an  intimate  acquaintance  with 
the  Middle  Ages  and  the  French  Revolution,  as  my  work  in' 
correcting  dealt  precisely  with  the  two  volumes  which  con- 
tained these  two  periods.  I  remember  in  particular  that  the 
description  of  the  Revolution  filled  me  with  sincere  hatred 
for  its  heroes;  unfamiliar  as  I  was  with  the  previous  history 
of  France,  my  human  sympathy  was  horrified  by  the  cruelty 
of  the  men  of  that  day,  and  this  purely  human  impulse  re- 
mained so  strong  in  me  that  I  remember  how  even  quite  recently 
it  cost  me  a  real  struggle  to  give  any  weight  to  the  true  political 
significance  of  those  acts  of  violence. 

How  great,  then,  was  my  astonishment  when  one  day  the 
current  political  events  of  the  time  enabled  me,  as  it  were,  to 
gain  a  personal  experience  of  the  sort  of  national  upheavals 
with  which  I  had  come  into  distant  contact  in  the  course  of  my 
proof-correcting.  The  special  editions  of  the  Leipzig  Gazette 
brought  us  the  news  of  the  July  Revolution  in  Paris.  The  King 
of  France  had  been  driven  from  his  throne;  Lafayette,  who  a 
moment  before  had  seemed  a  myth  to  me,  was  again  riding 
through  a  cheering  crowd  in  the  streets  of  Paris;  the  Swiss 
Guards  had  once  more  been  butchered  in  the  Tuileries,  and  a 
new  King  knew  no  better  way  of  commending  himself  to  the 
populace  than  by  declaring  himself  the  embodiment  of  the  Re- 
public. Suddenly  to  become  conscious  of  living  at  a  time  in 
which  such  things  took  place  could  not  fail  to  have  a  startling 
effect  on  a  boy  of  seventeen.  The  world  as  a  historic  phenome- 
non began  from  that  day  in  my  eyes,  and  naturally  my  sym- 
pathies were  wholly  on  the  side  of  the  Revolution,  which  I 
regarded  in  the  light  of  a  heroic  popular  struggle  crowned  with 
victory,  and  free  from  the  blemish  of  the  terrible  excesses  that 
stained  the  first  French  Revolution.  As  the  whole  of  Europe, 


48  MY   LIFE 

including  some  of  the  German  states,  was  soon  plunged  more  or 
less  violently  into  rebellion,  I  remained  for  some  time  in  a 
feverish  state  of  suspense,  and  now  first  turned  my  attention  to 
the  causes  of  these  upheavals,  which  I  regarded  as  struggles  of 
the  young  and  hopeful  against  the  old  and  effete  portion  of 
mankind.  Saxony  also  did  not  remain  unscathed ;  in  Dresden 
it  came  to  actual  fighting  in  the  streets,  which  immediately  pro- 
duced a  political  change  in  the  shape  of  the  proclamation  of  the 
regency  of  the  future  King  Frederick,  and  the  granting  of  a 
constitution.  This  event  filled  me  with  such  enthusiasm  that 
I  composed  a  political  overture,  the  prelude  of  which  depicted 
dark  oppression  in  the  midst  of  which  a  strain  was  at  last 
heard  under  which,  to  make  my  meaning  clearer,  I  wrote  the 
words  Friedrich  und  Freiheit;  this  strain  was  intended  to 
develop  gradually  and  majestically  into  the  fullest  triumph, 
which  I  hoped  shortly  to  see  successfully  performed  at  one  of 
the  Leipzig  Garden  Concerts. 

However,  before  I  was  able  to  develop  my  politico-musical 
conceptions  further,  disorders  broke  out  in  Leipzig  itself  which 
summoned  me  from  the  precincts  of  Art  to  take  a  direct  share 
in  national  life.  National  life  in  Leipzig  at  this  time  meant 
nothing  more  than  antagonism  between  the  students  and  the 
police,  the  latter  being  the  arch-enemy  upon  whom  the  youthful 
love  of  liberty  vented  itself.  Some  students  had  been  arrested 
in  a  street  broil  who  were  now  to  be  rescued.  The  under- 
graduates, who  had  been  restless  for  some  days,  assembled 
one  evening  in  the  Market  Place  and  the  Clubs,  mustered 
together,  and  made  a  ring  round  their  leaders.  The  whole 
proceeding  was  marked  by  a  certain  measured  solemnity,  which 
impressed  me  deeply.  They  sang  Oaudeamus  igitur,  formed 
up  into  column,  and  picking  up  from  the  crowd  any  young 
men  who  sympathised  with  them,  marched  gravely  and  reso- 
lutely from  the  Market  Place  to  the  University  buildings, 
to  open  the  cells  and  set  free  the  students  who  had  been 
arrested.  My  heart  beat  fast  as  I  marched  with  them  to  this 
'  Taking  of  the  Bastille,'  but  things  did  not  turn  out  as  we 
expected,  for  in  the  courtyard  of  the  Paulinum  the  solemn 
procession  was  stopped  by  Rector  Krug,  who  had  come  down 
to  meet  it  with  his  grey  head  bared;  his  assurance  that  the 


TWO  HOUSES  PLUNDERED  IN  ONE  NIGHT    49 

captives  had  already  been  released  at  his  request  was  greeted 
with  a  thundering  cheer,  and  the  matter  seemed  at  an  end. 

But  the  tense  expectation  of  a  revolution  had  grown  too 
great  not  to  demand  some  sacrifice.  A  summons  was  suddenly- 
spread  calling  us  to  a  notorious  alley  in  order  to  exercise 
popular  justice  upon  a  hated  magistrate  who,  it  was  rumoured, 
had  unlawfully  taken  under  his  protection  a  certain  house  of 
ill-fame  in  that  quarter.  When  I  reached  the  spot  with  the 
tail-end  of  the  crowd,  I  found  the  house  had  been  broken 
into  and  all  sorts  of  violence  had  been  committed.  I  recall 
with  horror  the  intoxicating  effect  this  unreasoning  fury  had 
upon  me,  and  cannot  deny  that  without  the  slightest  personal 
provocation  I  shared,  like  one  possessed,  in  the  frantic  on- 
slaught of  the  undergraduates,  who  madly  shattered  furniture 
and  crockery  to  bits.  I  do  not  believe  that  the  ostensible  motive 
for  this  outrage,  which,  it  is  true,  was  to  be  found  in  a  fact 
that  was  a  grave  menace  to  public  morality,  had  any  weight 
with  me  whatever;  on  the  contrary,  it  was  the  purely  devilish 
fury  of  these  popular  outbursts  that  drew  me,  too,  like  a 
madman  into  their  vortex. 

The  fact  that  such  fits  of  fury  are  not  quick  to  abate,  but, 
in  accordance  with  certain  natural  laws,  reach  their  proper 
conclusion  only  after  they  have  degenerated  into  frenzy,  I 
was  to  learn  in  my  own  person.  Scarcely  did  the  summons 
ring  out  for  us  to  march  to  another  resort  of  the  same  kind 
than  I  too  found  myself  in  the  tide  which  set  towards  the 
opposite  end  of  the  town.  There  the  same  exploits  were  re- 
peated, and  the  most  ludicrous  outrages  perpetrated.  I  can- 
not remember  that  the  enjoyment  of  alcoholic  drinks  con- 
tributed to  the  intoxication  of  myself  and  my  immediate  fellows. 
I  only  know  that  I  finally  got  into  the  state  that  usually  suc- 
ceeds a  debauch,  and  upon  waking  next  morning,  as  if  from  a 
hideous  nightmare,  had  to  convince  myself  that  I  had  really 
taken  part  in  the  events  of  the  previous  night  by  a  trophy  I 
possessed  in  the  shape  of  a  tattered  red  curtain,  which  I  had 
brought  home  as  a  token  of  my  prowess.  The  thought  that 
people  generally,  and  my  own  family  in  particular,  were  wont 
to  put  a  lenient  construction  upon  youthful  escapades  was  a 
great  comfort  to  me;  outbursts  of  this  kind  on  the  part  of  the 


50  MY   LIFE 

young  were  regarded  as  righteous  indignation  against  really 
serious  scandals,  and  there  was  no  need  for  me  to  be  afraid  of 
owning  up  to  having  taken  part  in  such  excesses. 

The  dangerous  example,  however,  which  had  been  set  by 
the  undergraduates  incited  the  lower  classes  and  the  mob  to 
similar  excesses  on  the  following  nights,  against  employers 
nnd  any  who  were  obnoxious  to  them.  The  matter  at  once 
assumed  a  more  serious  complexion;  property  was  threatened, 
and  a  conflict  between  rich  and  poor  stood  grinning  at  our 
doors.  As  there  were  no  soldiers  in  the  town,  and  the  police 
were  thoroughly  disorganised,  the  students  were  called  in  as 
a  protection  against  the  lower  orders.  An  undergraduate's 
hour  of  glory  now  began,  such  as  I  could  only  have  thirsted 
for  in  my  schoolboy  dreams.  The  student  became  the  tutelar 
deity  of  Leipzig,  called  on  by  the  authorities  to  arm  and  band 
together  in  defence  of  property,  and  the  same  young  men  who 
two  days  before  had  yielded  to  a  rage  for  destruction,  now 
mustered  in  the  University  courtyard.  The  proscribed  names 
of  the  students'  clubs  and  unions  were  shouted  by  the  mouths 
of  town  councillors  and  chief  constables  in  order  to  summon 
curiously  equipped  undergraduates,  who  thereupon,  in  simple 
mediaeval  array  of  war,  scattered  throughout  the  town, 
occupied  the  guard-rooms  at  the  gates,  provided  sentinels  for 
the  grounds  of  various  wealthy  merchants,  and,  as  occasion 
demanded,  took  places  which  seemed  threatened,  more  especially 
inns,  under  their  permanent  protection. 

Though,  unluckily,  I  was  not  yet  a  member  of  their  body,  I 
anticipated  the  delights  of  academic  citizenship  by  half-impu- 
dent, half-obsequious  solicitation  of  the  leaders  of  the  students 
whom  I  honoured  most.  I  had  the  good  fortune  to  recommend 
myself  particularly  to  these  '  cocks  of  the  walk,'  as  they  were 
styled,  on  account  of  my  relationship  to  Brockhaus,  in  whose 
grounds  the  main  body  of  these  champions  were  encamped 
for  some  time.  My  brother-in-law  was  among  those  who  had 
been  seriously  threatened,  and  it  was  only  owing  to  really 
great  presence  of  mind  and  assurance  that  he  succeeded  in 
saving  his  printing  works,  and  especially  his  steam  presses, 
which  were  the  chief  object  of  attack,  from  destruction.  To 
protect  his  property  against  further  assault,  detachments  of 


students  were  told  off  to  his  grounds  as  well;  the  excellent 
entertainment  which  the  generous  master  of  the  house  offered 
his  jovial  guardians  in  his  pleasant  summer-house  enticed  the 
pick  of  the  students  to  him.  My  brother-in-law  was  for  sev- 
eral weeks  guarded  day  and  night  against  possible  attacks 
by  the  populace,  and  on  this  occasion,  as  the  mediator  of  a 
flowing  hospitality,  I  celebrated  among  the  most  famous 
1  bloods  '  of  the  University  the  true  saturnalia  of  my  scholarly 
ambition. 

For  a  still  longer  period  the  guarding  of  the  gates  was 
entrusted  to  the  students;  the  unheard-of  splendour  which 
accordingly  became  associated  with  this  post  drew  fresh  as- 
pirants to  the  spot  from  far  and  near.  Every  day  huge  char- 
tered vehicles  discharged  at  the  Halle  Gate  whole  bands  of 
the  boldest  sons  of  learning  from  Halle,  Jena,  Gottingen,  and 
the  remotest  regions.  They  got  down  close  to  the  guards  at 
the  gate,  and  for  several  weeks  never  set  foot  in  an  inn  or  any 
other  dwelling;  they  lived  at  the  expense  of  the  Council,  drew 
vouchers  on  the  police  for  food  and  drink,  and  knew  but  one 
care,  that  the  possibility  of  a  general  quieting  of  men's  minds 
would  make  their  opportune  guardianship  superfluous.  I  never 
missed  a  day  on  guard  or  a  night  either,  alas!  trying  to  im- 
press on  my  family  the  urgent  need  for  my  personal  endur- 
ance. Of  course,  the  quieter  and  really  studious  spirits  among 
us  soon  resigned  these  duties,  and  only  the  flower  of  the  flock 
of  undergraduates  remained  so  staunch  that  it  became  difficult 
for  the  authorities  to  relieve  them  of  their  task.  I  held  out 
to  the  very  last,  and  succeeded  in  making  most  astonishing 
friends  for  my  age.  Many  of  the  most  audacious  remained 
in  Leipzig  even  when  there  was  no  guard  duty  to  fulfil,  and 
peopled  the  place  for  some  time  with  champions  of  an  extra- 
ordinarily desperate  and  dissipated  type,  who  had  been  re- 
peatedly sent  down  from  various  universities  for  rowdyism 
or  debt,  and  who  now,  thanks  to  the  exceptional  circumstances 
of  the  day,  found  a  refuge  in  Leipzig,  where  at  first  they  had 
been  received  with  open  arms  by  the  general  enthusiasm  of 
their  comrades. 

In  the  presence  of  all  these  phenomena  I  felt  as  if  I  were 
surrounded  by  the  results  of  an  earthquake  which  had  upset 


52  MY   LIFE 

the  usual  order  of  things.  My  brother-in-J  iw,  Friedrich  Brock- 
haus,  who  could  justly  taunt  the  form  ;r  authorities  of  the 
place  with  their  inability  to  maintain  peace  and  order,  was 
carried  away  by  the  current  of  a  formidable  movement  of  op- 
position. He  made  a  daring  speech  at  the  Guildhall  before 
their  worships  the  Town  Council,  whi,ch  brought  him  popu- 
larity, and  he  was  appointed  second-in -command  of  the  newly 
constituted  Leipzig  Municipal  Guard.  This  body  at  length 
ousted  my  adored  students  from  the  guard-rooms  of  the  town 
gates,  and  we  no  longer  had  the  right  of  stopping  travellers 
and  inspecting  their  passes.  On  the  other  hand,  I  flattered 
myself  that  I  might  regard  my  r  ;w  position  as  a  boy  citizen 
•as  equivalent  to  that  of  the  Freich  National  Guard,  and  my 
brother-in-law,  Brockhaus,  as  a  Saxon  Lafayette,  which,  at 
all  events,  succeeded  in  furnishing  my  soaring  excitement  with 
a  healthy  stimulant.  I  now  began  to  read  the  papers  and 
cultivate  politics  enthusiasiically ;  however,  the  social  inter- 
course of  the  civic  world  did  not  attract  me  sufficiently  to 
make  me  false  to  my  beloved  academic  associates.  I  followed 
them  faithfully  from  the  guard-rooms  to  the  ordinary  bars, 
where  their  splendour  as  men  of  the  literary  world  now  sought 
retirement. 

My  chief  ambition  was  to  become  one  of  them  as  soon  as 
possible.  This,  however,  could  only  be  accomplished  by  being 
again  entered  at  a  grammar  school.  St.  Thomas's,  whose  head- 
master was  a  feeble  old  man,  was  the  place  where  my  wishes 
could  be  most  speedily  attained. 

I  joined  the  school  in  the  autumn  of  1830  simply  with  the 
intention  of  qualifying  myself  for  the  Leaving  Examination 
by  merely  nominal  attendance  there.  The  chief  thing  in  con- 
nection with  it  was  that  I  and  friends  of  the  same  bent  suc- 
:ceeded  in  establishing  a  sham  students'  association  called  the 
'Freshman's  Club.  It  was  formed  with  all  possible  pedantry, 
the  institution  of  the  '  Comment '  was  introduced,  fencing- 
practice  and  sword-bouts  were  held,  and  an  inaugural  meeting 
to  which  several  prominent  students  were  invited,  and  at  which 
[  presided  as  '  Vice '  in  white  buckskin  trousers  and  great 
jack-boots,  gave  me  a  foretaste  of  the  delights  awaiting  me  as 
a  full-blown  son  of  the  Muses. 


ST.    THOMAS'S    SCHOOL  53 

The  masters  of  St.  Thomas's,  however,  were  not  quite  so 
ready  to  fall  in  with  my  aspirations  to  studentship ;  at  the  end 
of  the  half-year  they  were  of  the  opinion  that  I  had  not  given 
a  thought  to  their  institution,  and  nothing  could  persuade  them 
that  I  had  earned  a  title  to  academic  citizenship  by  any  acqui-^ 
sition  of  knowledge.  Some  sort  of  decision  was  necessary,  so 
I  accordingly  informed  my  family  that  I  had  made  up  my 
mind  not  to  study  for  a  profession  at  the  University,  but  to 
become  a  musician.  There  was  nothing  to  prevent  me  matricu- 
lating as  '  Studiosus  Musicae,'  and,  without  therefore  troubling 
myself  about  the  pedantries  of  the  authorities  at  St.  Thomas's, 
I  defiantly  quitted  that  seat  af  learning  from  which  I  had_ 
derived  small  profit,  and  presented  myself  forthwith  to  the 
rector  of  the  University,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  on 
the  evening  of  the  riot,  to  be  enrolled  as  a  student  of  music. 
This  was  accordingly  done  without  further  ado,  on  the  payment 
of  the  usual  fees. 

I  was  in  a  great  hurry  about  it,  for  in  a  week  the  Easter 
vacation  would  begin,  and  the  *  men '  would  go  down  from 
Leipzig,  when  it  would  be  impossible  to  be  elected  member  of 
a  club  until  the  vacation  was  over,  and  to  stay  all  those  weeks 
at  home  in  Leipzig  without  having  the  right  to  wear  the  coveted 
colours  seemed  to  me  unendurable  torture.  Straight  from  the 
rector's  presence  I  ran  like  a  wounded  animal  to  the  fencing 
school,  to  present  myself  for  admission  to  the  Saxon  Club, 
showing  my  card  of  matriculation.  I  attained  my  object,  I 
could  wear  the  colours  of  the  Saxonia,  which  was  in  the 
fashion  at  that  time,  and  in  great  request  because  it  numbered 
so  many  delightful  members  in  its  ranks. 

The  strangest  fate  was  to  befall  me  in  this  Easter  vacation, 
during  which  I  was  really  the  only  remaining  representative 
of  the  Saxon  Club  in  Leipzig.  In  the  beginning  this  club 
consisted  .chiefly  of  men  of  good  family  as  well  as  the  better 
class  elements  of  the  student  world ;  all  of  them  were  members 
of  highly  placed  and  well-to-do  families  in  Saxony  in  general, 
and  in  particular  from  the  capital,  Dresden,  and  spent  their 
vacation  at  their  respective  homes.  There  remained  in  Leipzig 
during  the  vacations  only  those  wandering  students  who  had 
no  homes,  and  for  whom  in  reality  it  was  always  or  never 


54  MY   LIFE 

holiday  time.  Among  these  a  separate  club  had  arisen  of 
daring  and  desperate  young  reprobates  who  had  found  a  last 
refuge,  as  I  said,  at  Leipzig  in  the  glorious  period  I  have 
recorded.  I  had  already  made  the  personal  acquaintance  of 
these  swashbucklers,  who  pleased  my  fancy  greatly,  when 
they  were  guarding  the  Brockhaus  grounds.  Although  the 
regular  duration  of  a  university  course  did  not  exceed  three 
years,  most  of  these  men  had  never  left  their  universities  for 
six  or  seven  years. 

I  was  particularly  fascinated  by  a  man  called  Gebhardt, 
who  was  endowed  with  extraordinary  physical  beauty  and 
strength,  and  whose  slim  heroic  figure  towered  head  and 
shoulders  above  all  his  companions.  When  he  walked  down 
the  street  arm-in-arm  with  two  of  the  strongest  of  his  com- 
rades, he  used  suddenly  to  take  it  into  his  head,  by  an  easy 
movement  of  his  arm,  to  lift  his  friends  high  in  the  air  and 
flutter  along  in  this  way  as  though  he  had  a  pair  of  human 
wings.  When  a  cab  was  going  along  the  streets  at  a  sharp  trot, 
he  would  seize  a  spoke  of  the  wheel  with  one  hand  and  force 
it  to  pull  up.  Nobody  ever  told  him  that  he  was  stupid 
because  they  were  afraid  of  his  strength,  hence  his  limitations 
were  scarcely  noticed.  His  redoubtable  strength,  combined 
with  a  temperate  disposition,  lent  him  a  majestic  dignity 
which  placed  him  above  the  level  of  an  ordinary  mortal.  He 
had  come  to  Leipzig  from  Mecklenburg  in  the  company  of  a 
certain  Degelow,  who  was  as  powerful  and  adroit,  though  by 
no  means  of  such  gigantic  proportions,  as  his  friend,  and  whose 
chief  attraction  lay  in  his  great  vivacity  and  animated  features. 
He  had  led  a  wild  and  dissipated  life  in  which  play,  drink, 
passionate  love  affairs,  and  constant  and  prompt  duelling  had 
rung  the  changes.  Ceremonious  politeness,  an  ironic  and 
pedantic  coldness,  which  testified  to  bold  self-confidence, 
combined  with  a  very  hot  temper,  formed  the  chief  character- 
istics of  this  personage  and  natures  akin  to  his.  Degelow's 
wildness  and  passion  were  lent  a  curious  diabolical  charm  by 
the  possession  of  a  malicious  humour  which  he  often  turned 
against  himself,  whereas  towards  others  he  exercised  a  certain 
chivalrous  tenderness. 

These  two  extraordinary  men  were  joined  by  others  who 


TKOUBLE   AHEAD  55 

possessed  all  the  qualities  essential  to  a  reckless  life,  together 
with  real  and  headstrong  valour.  One  of  them,  named  Stelzer, 
a  regular  Berserker  out  of  the  Nibelungenlied,  who  was  nick- 
named Lope,  was  in  his  twentieth  term.  While  these  men 
openly  and  consciously  belonged  to  a  world  doomed  to  destruc- 
tion, and  all  their  actions  and  escapades  could  only  be  explained 
by  the  hypothesis  that  they  all  believed  that  inevitable  ruin 
was  imminent,  I  made  in  their  company  the  acquaintance  of 
a  certain  Schroter,  who  particularly  attracted  me  by  his  cor- 
dial disposition,  pleasant  Hanoverian  accent,  and  refined  wit. 
He  was  not  one  of  the  regular  young  dare-devils,  towards 
whom  he  adopted  a  calm  observant  attitude,  while  they  were 
all  fond  of  him  and  glad  to  see  him.  I  made  a  real  friend  of 
this  Schroter,  although  he  was  much  older  than  I  was.  Through 
him  I  became  acquainted  with  the  works  ,and  poems  of  H. 
Heine,  and  from  him  I  acquired  a  certain  neat  and  saucy  wit, 
and  I  was  quite  ready  to  surrender  myself  to  his  agreeable 
influence  in  the  hope  of  improving  my  outward  bearing.  It 
was  his  company  in  particular  th]at  I  sought  every  day;  in  the 
afternoon  I  generally  met  him  in  the  Rosenthal  or  Kintschy's 
Chalet,  though  always  in  the  presence  of  those  wonderful  Goths 
who  excited  at  once  my  alarm  and  admiration. 

They  all  belonged  to  university  clubs  which  were  on  hostile 
terms  with  the  one  of  which  I  was  a  member.  What  this  hos- 
tility between  the  various  clubs  meant  only  those  can  judge 
who  are  familiar  with  the  tone  prevalent  among  them  in  those 
days.  The  mere  sight  of  hostile  colours  sufficed  to  infuriate 
these  men,  who  otherwise  were  kind  and  gentle,  provided  they 
had  taken  the  slightest  drop  too  much.  At  all  events,  as  long 
as  the  old  stagers  were  sober  they  would  look  with  good- 
natured  complacency  at  a  slight  young  fellow  like  me  in  the 
hostile  colours  moving  among  them  so  amicably.  Those  colours 
I  wore  in  my  own  peculiar  fashion.  I  had  made  use  of  the 
brief  week  during  which  my  club  was  still  in  Leipzig  to  become 
the  possessor  of  a  splendid  c  Saxon '  cap,  richly  embroidered 
with  silver,  and  worn  by  a  man  called  Miiller,  who  was  after- 
wards a  prominent  constable  at  Dresden.  I  had  been  seized 
with  such  a  violent  craving  for  this  cap  that  I  managed  to  buy 
it  from  him,  as  he  wanted  money  to  go  home.  In  spite  of  this 


56  MY   LIFE 

C  remarkable  cap  I  was,  as  I  have  said,  welcome  in  the  den  of 
this  band  of  rowdies :  my  friend  Schroter  saw  to  that.  It  was 
only  when  the  grog,  which  was  the  principal  beverage  of  these 
wild  spirits,  began  to  work  that  I  used  to  notice  curious  glances 
and  overhear  doubtful  speeches,  the  significance  of  which  was 
for  some  time  hidden  from  me  by  the  dizziness  in  which  my 
own  senses  were  plunged  by  this  baneful  drink. 

As  I  was  inevitably  bound  on  this  account  to  be  mixed  up 
in  quarrels  for  some  time  to  come,  it  afforded  me  a  great  satis- 
faction that  my  first  fight,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  arose  from  an 
incident  more  creditable  to  me  than  those  provocations  which 
I  had  left  half  unnoticed.  One  day  Degelow  came  up  to 
Schroter  and  me  in  a  wine-bar  that  we  often  frequented,  and 
in  quite  a  friendly  manner  confessed  to  us  confidentially  his 
liking  for  a  young  and  very  pretty  actress  whose  talent  Schroter 
disputed.  Degelow  rejoined  that  this  was  as  it  might  be,  but 
that,  for  his  part,  he  regarded  the  young  lady  as  the  most 
respectable  woman  in  the  theatre.  I  at  once  asked  him  if  he 
considered  my  sister's  reputation  was  not  as  good.  Accord- 
ing to  students'  notions  it  was  impossible  for  Degelow,  who 
doubtless  had  not  the  remotest  intention  of  being  insulting,  to 
give  me  any  assurance  further  than  to  say  that  he  certainly 
did  not  think  my  sister  had  an  inferior  reputation,  but  that, 
nevertheless,  he  meant  to  abide  by  his  assertion  concerning 
the  young  lady  he  had  mentioned.  Hereupon  followed  without 
delay  the  usual  challenge,  opening  with  the  words,  *  You  're 
an  ass,'  which  sounded  almost  ridiculous  to  my  own  ears  when 
I  said  them  to  this  seasoned  swashbuckler. 

I  remember  that  Degelow  too  gasped  with  astonishment, 
and  lightning  seemed  to  flash  from  his  eyes ;  but  he  controlled 
himself  in  the  presence  of  my  friend,  and  proceeded  to  observe 
the  usual  formalities  of  a  challenge, ..  and  chose  broadswords 
(Tcrumme  Sabel)  as  the  weapons  for  the  fight.  The  event  made 
a  great  stir  among  our  companions,  but  I  saw  less  reason  than 
before  to  abstain  from  my  usual  intercourse  with  them.  Only  I 
became  more  strict  about  the  behaviour  of  the  swashbucklers, 
and  for  several  days  no  evening  passed  without  producing  a 
challenge  between  me  and  some  formidable  bully,  until  at  last 
Count  Solms,  the  only  member  of  my  club  who  had  returned 


PREPARATIONS   FOR    A   DUEL  57 

to  Leipzig  as  yet,  visited  me  as  though  he  were  an  intimate 
friend  and  inquired  into  what  had  occurred.  He  applauded 
my  conduct,  but  advised  me  not  to  wear  my  colours  until  the 
return  of  our  comrades  from  the  vacation,  and  to  keep  away 
from  the  bad  company  into  which  I  had  ventured.  Fortunately 
I  had  not  long  to  wait;  university  life  soon  began  again,  and 
the  fencing  ground  was  filled.  The  unenviable  position,  in  , 
which,  in  student  phrase,  I  was  suspended  with  a  half-dozen 
of  the  most  terrible  swordsmen,  earned  me  a  glorious  repu- 
tion  among  the  '  freshmen '  and  '  juniors,'  and  even  among 
the  older  (  champions  '  of  the  Saxonia. 

My  seconds  were  duly  arranged,  the  dates  for  the  various 
duels  on  hand  settled,  and  by  the  care  of  my  seniors  the  needful 
time  was  secured  for  me  to  acquire  some  sort  of  skill  in  fencing. 
The  light  heart  with  which  I  awaited  the  fate  which  threatened 
me  in  at  least  one  of  the  impending  encounters  I  myself  could 
not  understand  at  the  time;  on  the  other  hand,  the  way  in 
which  that  fate  preserved  me  from  the  consequences  of  my 
rashness  seems  truly  miraculous  in  my  eyes  to  this  day,  and 
worthy  of  further  description. 

The  preparations  for  a  duel  included  obtaining  some  ex- 
perience of  these  encounters  by  being  present  at  several  of 
them.  We  freshmen  attained  this  object  by  what  is  called 
'  carrying  duty,'  that  is  to  say,  we  were  entrusted  with  the 
rapiers  of  the  corps  (precious  weapons  of  honour  belonging 
to  the  association),  and  had  to  take  them  first  to  the  grinder 
and  thence  to  the  scene  of  encounter,  a  proceeding  which  was 
attended  with  some  danger,  as  it  had  to  be  done  surrepti- 
tiously, since  duelling  was  forbidden  by  law;  in  return  we 
acquired  the  right  of  assisting  as  spectators  at  the  impending 
engagements. 

When  I  had  earned  this  honour,  the  meeting-place  chosen 
for  the  duel  I  was  to  watch  was  the  billiard-room  of  an  inn  in 
the  Burgstrasse;  the  table  had  been  moved  to  one  side,  and 
on  it  the  authorised  spectators  took  their  places.  Among 
them  I  stood  up  with  a  beating  heart  to  watch  the  dangerous 
encounters  between  those  doughty  champions.  I  was  told  on 
this  occasion  of  the  story  of  one  of  my  friends  (a  Jew  named 
Levy,  but  known  as  Lippert),  who  on  this  very  floor  had  given 


58  MY   LIFE 

so  much  ground  before  his  antagonist  that  the  door  had  to 
be  opened  for  him,  and  he  fell  back  through  it  down  the  steps 
into  the  street,  still  believing  he  was  engaged  in  the  duel. 
When  several  bouts  had  been  finished,  two  men  came  on  to 
the  '  pitch,'  Tempel,  the  president  of  the  Markomanen,  and  a 
certain  Wohlfart,  an  old  stager,  already  in  his  fourteenth  half- 
year  of  study,  with  whom  I  also  was  booked  for  an  encounter 
later  on.  When  this  was  the  case,  a  man  was  not  allowed  to 
watch,  in  order  that  the  weak  points  of  the  duellist  might  not 
be  betrayed  to  his  future  opponent.  Wohlfart  was  accordingly 
asked  by  my  chiefs  whether  he  wanted  me  removed;  where- 
upon he  replied  with  calm  contempt,  '  Let  them  leave  the 
little  freshman  there,  in  God's  name ! '  Thus  I  became  an  eye- 
witness of  the  disablement  of  a  swordsman  who  nevertheless 
showed  himself  so  experienced  and  skilful  on  the  occasion  that 
I  might  well  have  become  alarmed  for  the  issue  of  my  future 
encounter  with  him.  His  gigantic  opponent  cut  the  artery 
of  his  right  arm,  which  at  once  ended  the  fight;  the  surgeon 
declared  that  Wohlfart  would  not  be  able  to  hold  a  sword 
again  for  years,  under  which  circumstances  my  proposed  meet- 
ing with  him  was  at  once  cancelled.  I  do  not  deny  that  this 
incident  cheered  my  soul. 

Shortly  afterwards  the  first  general  reunion  of  our  club  was 
held  at  the  Green  Tap.  These  gatherings  are  regular  hot- 
beds for  the  production  of  duels.  Here  I  brought  upon  myself 
a  new  encounter  with  one  Tischer,  but  learned  at  the  same  time 
that  I  had  been  relieved  of  two  of  my  most  formidable  previous 
engagements  of  the  kind  by  the  disappearance  of  my  opponents, 
both  of  whom  had  escaped  on  account  of  debt  and  left  no  trace 
behind  them.  The  only  one  of  whom  I  could  hear  anything 
was  the  terrible  Stelzer,  surnamed  Lope.  This  fellow  had 
taken  advantage  of  the  passing  of  Polish  refugees,  who  had 
at  that  time  already  been  driven  over  the  frontier  and  were 
making  their  way  through  Germany  to  France,  to  disguise 
himself  as  an  ill-starred  champion  of  freedom,  and  he  subse- 
quently found  his  way  to  the  Foreign  Legion  in  Algeria.  On 
the  way  home  from  the  gathering,  Degelow,  whom  I  was  to 
meet  in  a  few  weeks,  proposed  a  '  truce.'  This  was  a  device 
which,  if  it  was  accepted,  as  it  was  in  this  case,  enabled  the 


DEGELOW   AND   TISCHER  59 

future  combatants  to  entertain  and  talk  to  one  another,  which 
was  otherwise  most  strictly  forbidden.  We  wandered  back 
to  the  town  arm-in-arm;  with  chivalrous  tenderness  my  in- 
teresting and  formidable  opponent  declared  that  he  was  de- 
lighted at  the  prospect  of  crossing  swords  with  me  in  a  few 
weeks'  time;  that  he  regarded  it  as  an  honour  and  a  pleasure, 
as  he  was  fond  of  me  and  respected  me  for  my  valorous  con- 
duct. Seldom  has  any  personal  success  flattered  me  more. 
We  embraced,  and  amid  protestations  which,  owing  to  a  certain 
dignity  about  them,  acquired  a  significance  I  can  never  forget, 
we  parted.  He  informed  me  that  he  must  first  pay  a  visit  to 
Jena,  where  he  had  an  appointment  to  fight  a  duel.  A  week 
later  the  news  of  his  death  reached  Leipzig;  he  had  been  mor- 
tally wounded  in  the  duel  at  Jena. 

I  felt  as  if  I  were  living  in  a  dream,  out  of  which  I  was 
aroused  by  the  announcement  of  my  encounter  with  Tischer. 
Though  he  was  a  first-rate  and  vigorous  fighter,  he  had  been 
chosen  by  our  chiefs  for  my  first  passage  of  arms  because  he  was 
fairly  short.  In  spite  of  being  unable  to  feel  any  great  confi- 
dence in  my  hastily  acquired  and  little  practised  skill  in  fencing, 
I  looked  forward  to  this  my  first  duel  with  a  light  heart.  Al- 
though it  was  against  the  rules,  I  never  dreamed  of  telling 
the  authorities  that  I  was  suffering  from  a  slight  rash  which 
I  had  caught  at  that  time,  and  which  I  was  informed  made 
wounds  so  dangerous  that  if  it  were  reported  it  would  postpone 
the  meeting,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  was  modest  enough  to 
be  prepared  for  wounds.  I  was  sent  for  at  ten  in  the  morning, 
and  left  home  smiling  to  think  what  my  mother  and  sisters 
would  say  if  in  a  few  hours  I  were  brought  back  in  the  alarming 
state  I  anticipated.  My  chief,  Herr  v.  Schonfeld,  was  a  pleasant, 
quiet  sort  of  man,  who  lived  on  the  marsh.  When  I  reached 
his  house,  he  leant  out  of  the  window  with  his  pipe  iff  his 
mouth,  and  greeted  me  with  the  words :  '  You  can  go  home, 
my  lad,  it  is  all  off;  Tischer  is  in  hospital.'  When  I  got  up- 
stairs I  found  several  '  leading  men '  assembled,  from  whom 
I  learned  that  Tischer  had  got  very  drunk  the  night  before, 
and  had  in  consequence  laid  himself  open  to  the  most  outrageous 
treatment  by  the  inhabitants  of  a  house  of  ill-fame.  He  was 
terribly  hurt,  and  had  been  taken  by  the  police  in  the  first 


60  MY   LIFE 

instance  to  the  hospital.  This  inevitably  meant  rustication, 
and,  above  all,  expulsion  from  the  academic  association  to 
which  he  belonged. 

I  cannot  clearly  recall  the  incidents  that  removed  from  Leip- 
zig the  few  remaining  fire-eaters  to  whom  I  had  pledged  myself 
since  that  fatal  vacation-time;  I  only  know  that  this  side  of 
my  fame  as  a  student  yielded  to  another.  We  celebrated  the 
'  freshmen's  gathering/  to  which  all  those  who  could  manage 
it  drove  a  four-in-hand  in  a  long  procession  through  the  town. 
After  the  president  of  the  club  had  profoundly  moved  me 
with  his  sudden  and  yet  prolonged  solemnity,  I  conceived  the 
desire  to  be  among  the  very  last  to  return  home  from  the  out- 
ing. Accordingly  I  stayed  away  three  days  and  three  nights, 
and  spent  the  time  chiefly  in  gambling,  a  pastime  which  from 
the  first  night  of  our  festivity  cast  its  devilish  snares  around 
me.  Some  half-dozen  of  the  smartest  club  members  chanced 
to  be  together  at  early  dawn  in  the  Jolly  Peasant,  and  forth- 
with formed  the  nucleus  of  a  gambling  club,  which  was  rein- 
forced during  the  day  by  recruits  coming  back  from  the  town. 
Members  came  to  see  whether  we  were  still  at  it,  members 
also  went  away,  but  I  with  the  original  six  held  out  for  days 
and  nights  without  faltering. 

The  desire  that  first  prompted  me  to  take  part  in  the  play 
was  the  wish  to  win  enough  for  my  score  (two  thalers)  :  this 
I  succeeded  in  doing,  and  thereupon  I  was  inspired  with  the 
hope  of  being  able  to  settle  all  the  debts  I  had  made  at  that 
time  by  my  winnings  at  play.  Just  as  I  had  hoped  to  learn 
composition  most  quickly  by  Logier's  method,  but  had  found 
myself  hampered  in  my  object  for  a  long  period  by  unexpected 
difficulties,  so  my  plan  for  speedily  improving  my  financial 
position  was  likewise  doomed  to  disappointment.  To  win 
was  not  such  an  easy  matter,  and  for  some  three  months  I  was 
such  a  victim  to  the  rage  for  gambling  that  no  other  pas- 
sion was  able  to  exercise  the  slightest  influence  over  my 
mind. 

Neither  the  Fechiboden  (where  the  students'  fights  were 
practised),  nor  the  beer-house,  nor  the  actual  scene  of  the 
fights,  ever  saw  my  face  again.  In  my  lamentable  position 
I  racked  my  brains  all  day  to  devise  ways  and  means  of  getting 


PASSION   FOR   GAMBLING  61 

the  money  wherewith  to  gamble  at  night.  In  vain  did  my  poor 
mother  try  everything  in  her  power  to  induce  me  not  to  come 
home  so  late  at  night,  although  she  had  no  idea  of  the  real 
nature  of  my  debauches:  after  I  had  left  the  house  in  the 
afternoon  I  never  returned  till  dawn  the  next  day,  and  I 
reached  my  room  (which  was  at  some  distance  from  the  others) 
by  climbing  over  the  gate,  for  my  mother  had  refused  to  give 
me  a  latch-key. 

In  despair  over  my  ill-luck,  my  passion  for  gambling  grew 
into  a  veritable  mania,  and  I  no  longer  felt  any  inclination  for 
those  things  which  at  one  time  had  lured  me  to  student  life. 
I  became  absolutely  indifferent  to  the  opinion  of  my  former 
companions  and  avoided  them  entirely;  I  now  lost  myself 
in  the  smaller  gambling  dens  of  Leipzig,  where  only  the  very 
scum  of  the  students  congregated.  Insensible  to  any  feeling 
of  self-respect,  I  bore  even  the  contempt  of  my  sister  Rosalie; 
both  she  and  my  mother  hardly  ever  deigning  to  cast  a  glance 
at  the  young  libertine  whom  they  only  saw  at  rare  intervals, 
looking  deadly  pale  and  worn  out:  my  ever-growing  despair 
made  me  at  last  resort  to  foolhardiness  as  the  only  means  of 
forcing  hostile  fate  to  my  side.  It  suddenly  struck  me  that 
only  by  dint  of  big  stakes  could  I  make  big  profits.  To  this  end 
I  decided  to  make  use  of  my  mother's  pension,  of  which  I  was 
trustee  of  a  fairly  large  sum.  That  night  I  lost  everything 
I  had  with  me  except  one  thaler:  the  excitement  with  which 
I  staked  that  last  coin  on  a  card  was  an  experience  hitherto 
quite  strange  to  my  young  life.  As  I  had  had  nothing  to  eat, 
I  was  obliged  repeatedly  to  leave  the  gambling  table  owing  to 
sickness.  With  this  last  thaler  I  staked  my  life,  for  my  return 
to  my  home  was,  of  course,  out  of  the  question.  Already  I 
saw  myself  in  the  grey  dawn,  a  prodigal  son,  fleeing  from  all 
I  held  dear,  through  forest  and  field  towards  the  unknown. 
My  mood  of  despair  had  gained  so  strong  a  hold  upon  me  that, 
when  my  card  won,  I  immediately  placed  all  the  money  on  a 
fresh  stake,  and  repeated  this  experiment  until  I  had  won 
quite  a  considerable  amount.  From  that  moment  my  luck 
grew  continuously.  I  gained  such  confidence  that  I  risked 
the  most  hazardous  stakes:  for  suddenly  it  dawned  upon  me 
that  this  was  destined  to  be  my  last  day  with  the  cards.  My 


62  MY   LIFE 

good  fortune  now  became  so  obvious  that  the  bank  thought 
it  wise  to  close.  Not  only  had  I  won  back  all  the  money  I  had 
lost,  but  I  had  won  enough  to  pay  off  all  my  debts  as  well. 
My  sensations  during  the  whole  of  this  process  were  of  the 
most  sacred  nature:  I  felt  as  if  God  and  His  angels  were 
standing  by  my  side  and  were  whispering  words  of  warning 
and  of  consolation  into  my  ears. 

Once  more  I  climbed  over  the  gate  of  my  home  in  the  early 
hours  of  the  morning,  this  time  to  sleep  peacefully  and  soundly 
and  to  awake  very  late,  strengthened  and  as  though  born 
again. 

No  sense  of  shame  deterred  me  from  telling  my  mother,  to 
whom  I  presented  her  money,  the  whole  truth  about  this 
decisive  night  I  voluntarily  confessed  my  sin  in  having 
utilised  her  pension,  sparing  no  detail.  She  folded  her  hands 
and  thanked  God  for  His  mercy,  and  forthwith  regarded  me 
as  saved,  believing  it  impossible  for  me  ever  to  commit  such  a 
crime  again. 

And,  truth  to  tell,  gambling  had  lost  all  fascination  for  me 
from  that  moment.  The  world,  in  which  I  had  moved  like  one 
demented,  suddenly  seemed  stripped  of  all  interest  or  attrac- 
tion. My  rage  for  gambling  had  already  made  me  quite 
indifferent  to  the  usual  student's  vanities,  and  when  I  was 
freed  from  this  passion  also,  I  suddenly  found  myself  face  to 
face  with  an  entirely  new  world. 

-  To  this  world  I  belonged  henceforth:    it  was  the  world  of 
-J— real  and  serious  musical  study,  to  which  I  now  devoted  myself 
heart  and  soul. 

Even  during  this  wild  period  of  my  life,  my  musical  develop- 
ment had  not  been  entirely  at  a  standstill;  on  the  contrary, 
it  daily  became  plainer  that  music  was  the  only  direction 
towards  which  my  mental  tendencies  had  a  marked  bent. 
Only  I  had  got  quite  out  of  the  habit  of  musical  study.  Even 
now  it  seems  incredible  that  I  managed  to  find  time  in  those 
days  to  finish  quite  a  substantial  amount  of  composition.  I 
have  but  the  faintest  recollection  of  an  Overture  in  C  major 
( %  time),  and  of  a  Sonata  in  B  flat  major  arranged  as  a  duet; 
the  latter  pleased  my  sister  Ottilie,  who  played  it  with  me,  so 
much  that  I  arranged  it  for  orchestra.  But  another  work  of 


PKODUCTION  OF  THE  '  NEW  OVERTURE  >  63 

this  period,  an  Overture  in  B  flat  major,  left  an  indelible  im- 
pression on  my  mind  on  account  of  an  incident  connected  with 
it.  This  composition,  in  fact,  was  the  outcome  of  my  study  of 
Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony  in  about  the  same  degree  as  Leu- 
bald  und  Adelaide  was  the  result  of  my  study  of  Shakespeare. 
I  had  made  a  special  point  of  bringing  out  the  mystic  meaning 
in  the  orchestra,  which  I  divided  into  three  distinctly  different 
and  opposite  elements.  I  wanted  to  make  the  characteristic 
nature  of  these  elements  clear  to  the  score  reader  the  moment 
he  looked  at  it  by  a  striking  display  of  colour,  and  only  the 
fact  that  I  could  not  get  any  green  ink  made  this  picturesque 
idea  impossible.  I  employed  black  ink  for  the  brass  instru- 
ments alone,  the  strings  were  to  have  red  and  the  wind  green 
ink.  This  extraordinary  score  I  gave  for  perusal  to  Heinrich 
Dorn,  who  was  at  that  time  musical  director  of  the  Leipzig 
theatre.  He  was  very  young,  and  impressed  me  as  being  a 
very  clever  musician  and  a  witty  man  of  the  world,  whom  the 
Leipzig  public  made  much  of. 

Nevertheless,  I  have  never  been  able  to  understand  how  he 
could  have  granted  my  request  to  produce  this  overture. 

Some  time  afterwards  I  was  rather  inclined  to  believe  with 
others,  who  knew  how  much  he  enjoyed  a  good  joke,  that  he 
intended  to  treat  himself  to  a  little  fun.  At  the  time,  however, 
he  vowed  that  he  thought  the  work  interesting,  and  maintained 
that  if  it  were  only  brought  out  as  a  hitherto  unknown  work 
by  Beethoven,  the  public  would  receive  it  with  respect,  though 
without  understanding. 

It  was  the  Christmas  of  the  fateful  year  1830;  as  usual, 
there  would  be  no  performance  at  the  theatre  on  Christmas 
Eve,  but  instead  a  concert  for  the  poor  had  been  organised, 
which  received  but  scant  support.  The  first  item  on  the  pro- 
gramme was  called  by  the  exciting  title  (  New  Overture '  — > 
nothing  more!  I  had  surreptitiously  listened  to  the  rehearsal 
with  some  misgiving.  I  was  very  much  impressed  by  the  cool- 
ness with  which  Dorn  fenced  with  the  apparent  confusion 
which  the  members  of  the  orchestra  showed  with  regard  to 
this  mysterious  composition.  The  principal  theme  of  the  Al- 
legro was  contained  in  four  bars;  after  every  fourth  bar, 
however,  a  fifth  bar  had  been  inserted,  which  had  nothing  to 


64  MY   LIFE 

do  with  the  melody,  and  which  was  announced  by  a  loud  bang 
on  the  kettle-drum  on  the  second  beat.  As  this  drum-beat 
stood  out  alone,  the  drummer,  who  continually  thought  he 
was  making  a  mistake,  got  confused,  and  did  not  give  the  right 
sharpness  to  the  accent  as  prescribed  by  the  score.  Listening 
from  my  hidden  corner,  and  frightened  at  my  original  intention, 
this  accidentally  different  rendering  did  not  displease  me.  To 
my  genuine  annoyance,  however,  Dorn  called  the  drummer 
to  the  front  and  insisted  on  his  playing  the  accents  with  the 
prescribed  sharpness.  When,  after  the  rehearsal,  I  told  the 
musical  director  of  my  misgivings  about  this  important  fact, 
I  could  not  get  him  to  promise  a  milder  interpretation  of  the 
fatal  drum-beat;  he  stuck  to  it  that  the  thing  would  sound 
very  well  as  it  was.  In  spite  of  this  assurance  my  restlessness 
grew,  and  I  had  not  the  courage  to  introduce  myself  to  my 
friends  in  advance  as  the  author  of  the  l  New  Overture.' 

My  sister  Ottilie,  who  had  already  been  forced  to  survive 
the  secret  readings  of  Leubald  und  Adelaide,  was  the  only 
person  willing  to  come  with  me  to  hear  my  work.  It  was 
Christmas  Eve,  and  there  was  to  be  the  usual  Christmas  tree, 
presents,  etc.,  at  my  brother-in-law's,  Friedrich  Brockhaiis, 
and  both  of  us  naturally  wanted  to  be  there.  My  sister,  in 
particular,  who  lived  there,  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the 
arrangements,  and  could  only  get  away  for  a  short  while,  and 
that  with  great  difficulty;  our  amiable  relation  accordingly 
had  the  carriage  ready  for  her  so  that  she  might  get  back  more 
quickly.  I  made  use  of  this  opportunity  to  inaugurate,  as  it 
were,  my  entree  into  the  musical  world  in  a  festive  manner. 
The  carriage  drew  up  in  front  of  the  theatre.  Ottilie  went  into 
my  brother-in-law's  box,  which  forced  me  to  try  and  find  a 
seat  in  the  pit.  I  had  forgotten  to  buy  a  ticket,  and  was  re- 
fused admission  by  the  man  at  the  door.  Suddenly  the  tuning 
up  of  the  orchestra  grew  louder  and  louder,  and  I  thought  I 
should  have  to  miss  the  beginning  of  my  work.  In  my  anxiety 
I  revealed  myself  to  the  man  at  the  door  as  the  composer  of 
the  '  New  Overture,'  and  in  this  way  succeeded  in  passing 
without  a  ticket.  I  pushed  my  way  through  to  one  of  the  first 
rows  of  the  pit,  and  sat  down  in  terrible  anxiety. 

The  Overture  began :    after  the  theme  of  the  '  black '  brass 


NEW   COMPOSITIONS  65 

instruments  had  made  itself  heard  with  great  emphasis,  the 
'  red '  Allegro  theme  started,  in  which,  as  I  have  already 
mentioned,  every  fifth  bar  was  interrupted  by  the  drum-beat 
from  the  *  black '  world.  What  kind  of  effect  the  *  green ' 
theme  of  the  wind  instruments,  which  joined  in  afterwards, 
produced  upon  the  listeners,  and  what  they  must  have  thought 
when  '  black/  '  red/  and  '  green '  themes  became  intermingled, 
has  always  remained  a  mystery  to  me,  for  the  fatal  drum-beat, 
brutally  hammered  out,  entirely  deprived  me  of  my  senses, 
especially  as  this  prolonged  and  continually  recurring  effect 
now  began  to  rouse,  not  only  the  attention,  but  the  merriment 
of  the  audience.  I  heard  my  neighbours  calculating  the  return 
of  this  effect;  knowing  the  absolute  correctness  of  their 
calculation,  I  suffered  ten  thousand  torments,  and  became 
almost  unconscious.  At  last  I  awoke  from  my  nightmare 
when  the  Overture,  to  which  I  had  disdained  to  give  what 
I  considered  a  trite  ending,  came  to  a  standstill  most 
unexpectedly. 

No  phantoms  like  those  in  Hoffmann's  Tales  could  have 
succeeded  in  producing  the  extraordinary  state  in  which  I  came 
to  my  senses  on  noticing  the  astonishment  of  the  audience  at 
the  end  of  the  performance.  I  heard  no  exclamations  of  dis- 
approval, no  hissing,  no  remarks,  not  even  laughter;  all  I  saw 
was  intense  astonishment  at  such  a  strange  occurrence,  which 
impressed  them,  as  it  did  me,  like  a  horrible  nightmare.  The 
worst  moment,  however,  came  when  I  had  to  leave  the  pit 
and  take  my  sister  home.  To  get  up  and  pass  through  the 
people  in  the  pit  was  horrible  indeed.  Nothing,  however, 
equalled  the  pain  of  coming  face  to  face  with  the  man  at  the 
door;  the  strange  look  he  gave  me  haunted  me  ever  after- 
wards, and  for  a  considerable  time  I  avoided  the  pit  of  the 
Leipzig  theatre. 

My  next  step  was  to  find  my  sister,  who  had  gone  through 
the  whole  sad  experience  with  infinite  pity;  in  silence  we 
drove  home  to  be  present  at  a  brilliant  family  festivity,  which 
contrasted  with  grim  irony  with  the  gloom  of  my  bewilderment. 

In  spite  of  it  all  I  tried  to  believe  in  myself,  and  thought  I 
could  find  comfort  in  my  overture  to  the  Braut  von  Messina, 
which  I  believed  to  be  a  better  work  than  the  fatal  one  I  had 


66  MY   LIFE 

just  heard.    A  reinstatement,  however,  was  out  of  the  question, 

for  the  directors  of  the  Leipzig  theatre  regarded  me  for  a  long 

time  as  a  very  doubtful  person,  in  spite  of  Dora's  friendship. 

,  It  is  true  that  I  still  tried  my  hand  at  sketching  out  composi- 

'tions  to  Goethe's  Faust,  some  of  which  have  been  preserved 

to  this  day:  but  soon  my  wild  student's  life  resumed  its  sway 

,and  drowned  the  last  remnant  of  serious  musical  study  in  me. 

I  now  began  to  imagine  that  because  I  had  become  a  student 
I  ought  to  attend  the  University  lectures.  From  Traugott 
Krug,  who  was  well  known  to  me  on  account  of  his  having 
suppressed  the  student's  revolt,  I  tried  to  learn  the  first  prin- 
ciples of  philosophy;  a  single  lesson  sufficed  to  make  me  give 
this  up.  Two  or  three  times,  however,  I  attended  the  lectures 
on  aesthetics  given  by  one  of  the  younger  professors,  a  man 
called  Weiss.  This  perseverance  was  due  to  the  interest  which 
Weiss  immediately  aroused  in  me.  When  I  made  his  acquaint- 
ance at  my  uncle  Adolph's  house,  Weiss  had  just  translated  the 
metaphysics  of  Aristotle,  and,  if  I  am  not  mistaken,  dedicated 
them  in  a  controversial  spirit  to  Hegel. 

On  this  occasion  I  had  listened  to  the  conversation  of  these 
two  men  on  philosophy  and  philosophers,  which  made  a  tre- 
mendous impression  on  me.  I  remember  that  Weiss  was  an 
absent-minded  man,  with  a  hasty  and  abrupt  manner  of  speak- 
ing; he  had  an  interesting  and  pensive  expression  which 
impressed  me  immensely.  I  recollect  how,  on  being  accused 
of  a  want  of  clearness  in  his  writing  and  style,  he  justified 
himself  by  saying  that  the  deep  problems  of  the  human  mind 
could  not  in  any  case  be  solved  by  the  mob.  This  maxim, 
which  struck  me  as  being  very  plausible,  I  at  once  accepted 
as  the  principle  for  all  my  future  writing.  I  remember  that 
my  eldest  brother  Albert,  to  whom  I  once  had  to  write  for  my 
mother,  grew  so  disgusted  with  my  letter  and  style  that  he 
said  he  thought  I  must  be  going  mad. 

In  spite  of  my  hopes  that  Weiss's  lectures  would  do  me  much 
good,  I  was  not  capable  of  continuing  to  attend  them,  as  my 
desires  in  those  days  drove  me  to  anything  but  the  study  of 
aesthetics.  Nevertheless,  my  mother's  anxiety  at  this  time 
on  my  behalf  made  me  try  to  take  up  music  again.  As  Miiller, 
the  teacher  under  whom  I  had  studied  till  that  time,  had  not 


THEODOR   WEINLICH  67 

been  able  to  inspire  me  with  a  permanent  love  of  study,  it 
was  necessary  to  discover  whether  another  teacher  might  not 
be  better  able  to  induce  me  to  do  serious  work. 

Theodor  Weinlich,  who  was  choirmaster  and  musical  director 
at  St.  Thomas's  Church,  held  at  that  time  this  important  and 
ancient  post  which  was  afterwards  occupied  by  Schicht,  and 
before  him  by  no  less  a  person  than  Sebastian  Bach.  By 
education  he  belonged  to  the  old  Italian  school  of  music,  and 
had  studied  in  Bologna  under  Pater  Martini.  He  had  made 
a  name  for  himself  in  this  art  by  his  vocal  compositions,  in 
which  his  fine  manner  of  treating  the  parts  was  much  praised. 
He  himself  told  me  one  day  that  a  Leipzig  publisher  had  offered 
him  a  very  substantial  fee  if  he  would  write  for  his  firm  another 
book  of  vocal  exercises  similar  to  the  one  which  had  proved 
so  profitable  to  his  first  publisher.  Weinlich  told  him  that  he 
had  not  got  any  exercises  of  the  kind  ready  at  the  moment, 
but  offered  him  instead  a  new  Mass,  which  the  publisher  re- 
fused with  the  words :  '  Let  him  who  got  the  meat  gnaw  the 
bones.'  The  modesty  with  which  Weinlich  told  me  this  little 
story  showed  how  excellent  a  man  he  was.  As  he  was  in  a  very 
bad  and  weak  state  of  health  when  my  mother  introduced  me 
to  him,  he  at  first  refused  to  take  me  as  a  pupil.  But,  after 
having  resisted  all  persuasions,  he  at  last  took  pity  on  my 
musical  education,  which,  as  he  soon  discovered  from  a  fugue 
which  I  had  brought  with  me,  was  exceedingly  faulty.  He 
accordingly  promised  to  teach  me,  on  condition  that  I  should 
give  up  all  attempts  at  composing  for  six  months,  and  follow 
his  instructions  implicitly.  To  the  first  part  of  my  promise 
I  remained  faithful,  thanks  to  the  vast  vortex  of  dissipation 
into  which  my  life  as  a  student  had  drawn  me. 

When,  however,  I  had  to  occupy  myself  for  any  length  of 
time  with  nothing  but  four-part  harmony  exercises  in  strictly 
rigorous  style,  it  was  not  only  the  student  in  me,  but  also 
the  composer  of  so  many  overtures  and  sonatas,  that  was  thor- 
oughly disgusted.  Weinlich,  too,  had  his  grievances  against 
me,  and  decided  to  give  me  up. 

During  this  period  I  came  to  the  crisis  of  my  life,  which  led 
to  the  catastrophe  of  that  terrible  evening  at  the  gambling  den. 
But  an  even  greater  blow  than  this  fearful  experience  awaited 


68  MY   LIFE 

me  when  Weinlich  decided  not  to  have  anything  more  to  do 
with  me.  Deeply  humiliated  and  miserable,  I  besought  the 
gentle  old  man,  whom  I  loved  dearly,  to  forgive  me,  and  I 
promised  him  from  that  moment  to  work  with  unflagging 
energy.  One  morning  at  seven  o'clock  Weinlich  sent  for  me 
to  begin  the  rough  sketch  for  a  fugue;  he  devoted  the  whole 
morning  to  me,  following  my  work  bar  by  bar  with  the  greatest 
attention,  and  giving  me  his  valuable  advice.  At  twelve  o'clock 
he  dismissed  me  with  the  instruction  to  perfect  and  finish  the 
sketch  by  filling  in  the  remaining  parts  at  home. 

When  I  brought  him  the  fugue  finished,  he  handed  me  his 
own  treatment  of  the  same  theme  for  comparison.  This  com- 
mon task  of  fugue  writing  established  between  me  and  my 
good-natured  teacher  the  tenderest  of  ties,  for,  from  that  mo- 
ment, we  both  enjoyed  the  lessons.  I  was  astonished  how 
quickly  the  time  flew.  In  eight  weeks  I  had  not  only  gone 
through  a  number  of  the  most  intricate  fugues,  but  had  also 
waded  through  all  kinds  of  difficult  evolutions  in  counterpoint, 
when  one  day,  on  bringing  him  an  extremely  elaborate  double 
fugue,  he  took  my  breath  away  by  telling  me  that  after  this 
there  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  teach  me. 

As  I  was  not  aware  of  any  great  effort  on  my  part,  I  often 
wondered  whether  I  had  really  become  a  well-equipped  musi- 
cian. Weinlich  himself  did  not  seem  to  attach  much  impor- 
tance to  what  he  had  taught  me :  he  said,  '  Probably  you 
will  never  write  fugues  or  canons;  but  what  you  have  mas- 
tered is  Independence:  you  can  now  stand  alone  and  rely 
upon  having  a  fine  technique  at  your  fingers'  ends  if  you 
should  want  it.9 

The  principal  result  of  his  influence  over  me  was  certainly 
the  growing  love  of  clearness  and  fluency  to  which  he  had 
trained  me.  I  had  already  had  to  write  the  above-mentioned 
fugue  for  ordinary  voices;  my  feeling  for  the  melodious  and 
vocal  had  in  this  way  been  awakened.  In  order  to  keep  me 
strictly  under  his  calming  and  friendly  influence,  he  had  at  the 
same  time  given  me  a  sonata  to  write  which,  as  a  proof  of  my 
friendship  for  him,  I  had  to  build  up  on  strictly  harmonic  and 
thematic  lines,  for  which  he  recommended  me  a  very  early 
and  childlike  sonata  by  Pleyel  as  a  model. 


GEWANDHAUS    CONCEKTS  69 

Those  who  had  only  recently  heard  my  Overture  must, 
indeed,  have  wondered  how  I  ever  wrote  this  sonata,  which 
has  been  published  through  the  indiscretion  of  Messrs.  Breit- 
kopf  and  Hartel  (to  reward  me  for  my  abstemiousness  Weinlich 
induced  them  to  publish  this  poor  composition).  From  that 
moment  he  gave  me  a  free  hand.  To  begin  with  I  was  allowed 
to  compose  a  Fantasia  for  the  pianoforte  (in  F  sharp  minor) 
which  I  wrote  in  a  quite  informal  style  by  treating  the  melody 
in  recitative  form;  this  gave  me  intense  satisfaction  because 
it  won  me  praise  from  Weinlich. 

Soon  afterwards  I  wrote  three  overtures  which  all  met  with 
his  entire  approval.  In  the  following  winter  (1831—1832)  I 
succeeded  in  getting  the  first  of  them,  in  D  minor,  performed 
at  one  of  the  Gewandhaus  concerts. 

At  that  time  a  very  simple  and  homely  tone  reigned  supreme 
in  this  institution.  The  instrumental  works  were  not  conducted 
by  what  we  call  '  a  conductor  of  the  orchestra/  but  were  simply 
played  to  the  audience  by  the  leader  of  the  orchestra.  As 
soon  as  the  singing  began,  Pohlenz  took  his  place  at  the  con- 
ductor's desk;  he  belonged  to  the  type  of  fat  and  pleasant 
musical  directors,  and  was  a  great  favourite  with  the  Leipzig 
public.  He  used  to  come  on  the  platform  with  a  very  impor- 
tant-looking blue  baton  in  his  hand. 

One  of  the  strangest  events  which  occurred  at  that  time  was 
the  yearly  production  of  the  Ninth  Symphony  of  Beethoven; 
after  the  first  three  movements  had  been  played  straight 
through  like  a  Haydn  symphony,  as  well  as  the  orchestra  could 
manage  it,  Pohlenz,  instead  of  having  to  conduct  a  vocal  quar- 
tette, a  cantata,  or  an  Italian  aria,  took  his  place  at  the  desk 
.to  undertake  this  highly  complicated  instrumental  work,  with 
its  particularly  enigmatical  and  incoherent  opening,  one  of 
the  most  difficult  tasks  that  could  possibly  be  found  for  a 
musical  conductor.  I  shall  never  forget  the  impression  pro- 
duced upon  me  at  the  first  rehearsal  by  the  anxiously  and 
carefully  played  ^4  time,  and  the  way  in  which  the  wild  shrieks 
of  the  trumpet  (with  which  this  movement  begins)  resulted  in 
the  most  extraordinary  confusion  of  sound. 

He  had  evidently  chosen  this  tempo  in  order,  in  some  way, 
to  manage  the  recitative  of  the  double  basses;  but  it  was 


70  MY   LIFE 

utterly  hopeless.  Pohlenz  was  in  a  bath  of  perspiration,  the 
recitative  did  not  come  off,  and  I  really  began  to  think  that 
Beethoven  must  have  written  nonsense ;  the  double  bass  player, 
Temmler,  a  faithful  veteran  of  the  orchestra,  prevailed  upon 
Pohlenz  at  last,  in  rather  coarse  and  energetic  language,  to 
put  down  the  baton,  and  in  this  way  the  recitative  really  pro- 
ceeded properly.  All  the  same,  I  felt  at  this  time  that  I  had 
come  to  the  humble  conclusion,  in  a  way  I  can  hardly  explain, 
that  this  extraordinary  work  was  still  beyond  my  comprehen- 
sion. For  a  long  time  I  gave  up  brooding  over  this  composi- 
tion, and  I  turned  my  thoughts  with  simple  longing  towards  a 
clearer  and  calmer  musical  form. 

My  study  of  counterpoint  had  taught  me  to  appreciate,  above 
all,  Mozart's  light  and  flowing  treatment  of  the  most  difficult 
technical  problems,  and  the  last  movement  of  his  great  Sym- 
phony in  C  major  in  particular  served  me  as  example  for 
my  own  work.  My  D  minor  Overture,  which  clearly  showed 
the  influence  of  Beethoven's  Coriolanus  Overture,  had  been 
favourably  received  by  the  public;  my  mother  began  to  have 
faith  in  me  again,  and  I  started  at  once  on  a  second  overture 
(in  C  major),  which  really  ended  with  a  '  Fugato  '  that  did  more 
credit  to  my  new  model  than  I  had  ever  hoped  to  accomplish. 

This  overture,  also,  was  soon  afterwards  performed  at  a 
recital  given  by  the  favourite  singer,  Mile.  Palazzesi  (of  the 
Dresden  Italian  Opera).  Before  this  I  had  already  introduced 
it  at  a  concert  given  by  a  private  musical  society  called  l  Eu- 
terpe', when  I  had  conducted  it  myself. 

I  remember  the  strange  impression  I  received  from  a  remark 
that  my  mother  made  on  that  occasion;  as  a  matter  of  fact 
this  work,  which  was  written  in  a  counterpoint  style,  without 
any  real  passion  or  emotion,  had  produced  a  strange  effect 
upon  her.  She  gave  vent  to  her  astonishment  by  warmly 
praising  the  Egmont  Overture,  which  was  played  at  the  same 
concert,  maintaining  that  '  this  kind  of  music  was  after  all 
more  fascinating  than  any  stupid  fugue.' 

At  this  time  I  also  wrote  (as  my  third  opus)  an  overture  to 
Raupach's  drama,  Konig  Enzio,  in  which  again  Beethoven's 
influence  made  itself  even  more  strongly  felt.  My  sister 
Rosalie  succeeded  in  getting  it  performed  at  the  theatre  before 


FUKTHEK    COMPOSITIONS  ?1 

the  play;  for  the  sake  of  prudence  they  did  not  announce  it 
on  the  programme  the  first  time.  Dorn  conducted  it,  and 
as  the  performance  went  off  all  right,  and  the  public  showed 
no  dissatisfaction,  my  overture  was  played  with  my  full  name 
on  the  programme  several  times  during  the  run  of  the  above- 
mentioned  drama. 

After  this  I  tried  my  hand  at  a  big  Symphony  (in  C  major)  ; 
in  this  work  I  showed  what  I  had  learnt  by  using  the  influence 
of  my  study  of  Beethoven  and  Mozart  towards  the  achieve- 
ment of  a  really  pleasant  and  intelligible  work,  in  which  the 
fugue  was  again  present  at  the  end,  while  the  themes  of  the 
various  movements  were  so  constructed  that  they  could  be 
played  consecutively. 

Nevertheless,  the  passionate  and  bold  element  of  the  Sin- 
fonia  Eroica  was  distinctly  discernible,  especially  in  the  first 
movement.  The  slow  movement,  on  the  contrary,  contained 
reminiscences  of  my  former  musical  mysticism.  A  kind  of 
repeated  interrogative  exclamation  of  the  minor  third  merg- 
ing into  the  fifth  connected  in  my  mind  this  work  (which  I 
had  finished  with  the  utmost  effort  at  clearness)  with  my  very 
earliest  period  of  boyish  sentimentality. 

When,  in  the  following  year,  I  called  on  Friedrich  Rochlitz, 
at  that  time  the  '  Nestor '  of  the  musical  aesthetes  in  Leipzig, 
and  president  of  the  Gewandhaus,  I  prevailed  upon  him  to 
promise  me  a  performance  of  my  work.  As  he  had  been  given 
my  score  for  perusal  before  seeing  me,  he  was  quite  astonished 
to  find  that  I  was  a  very  young  man,  for  the  character  of  my 
music  had  prepared  him  to  see  a  much  older  and  more  experi- 
enced musician.  Before  this  performance  took  place  many 
things  happened  which  I  must  first  mention,  as  they  were  of 
great  importance  to  my  life. 

My  short  and  stormy  career  as  a  student  had  drowned  in, 
me  not  only  all  longing  for  further  development,  but  also  all 
interest  in  intellectual  and  spiritual  pursuits.  Although,  as 
I  have  pointed  out,  I  had  never  alienated  myself  entirely  from 
music,  my  revived  interest  in  politics  aroused  my  first  real 
disgust  for  my  senseless  student's  life,  which  soon  left  no 
deeper  traces  on  my  mind  than  the  remembrance  of  a  terrible 
nightmare. 


72  MY   LIFE 

The  Polish  War  of  Independence  against  Russian  supremacy 
filled  me  with  growing  enthusiasm.  The  victories  which  the 
Poles  obtained  for  a  short  period  during  May,  1831,  aroused  my 
enthusiastic  admiration :  it  seemed  to  me  as  though  the  world 
had,  by  some  miracle,  been  created  anew.  As  a  contrast  to 
this,  the  news  of  the  battle  of  Ostrolenka  made  it  appear  as  if 
the  end  of  the  world  had  come.  To  my  astonishment,  my 
boon  companions  scoffed  at  me  when  I  commented  upon  some 
of  these  events;  the  terrible  lack  of  all  fellow-feeling  and 
comradeship  amongst  the  students  struck  me  very  forcibly. 
Any  kind  of  enthusiasm  had  to  be  smothered  or  turned  into 
pedantic  bravado,  which  showed  itself  in  the  form  of  affecta- 
tion and  indifference.  To  get  drunk  with  deliberate  cold- 
bloodedness, without  even  a  glimpse  of  humour,  was  reckoned 
almost  as  brave  a  feat  as  duelling.  Not  until  much  later  did 
I  understand  the  far  nobler  spirit  which  animated  the  lower 
classes  in  Germany  in  comparison  with  the  sadly  degenerate 
state  of  the  University  students.  In  those  days  I  felt  terribly 
indignant  at  the  insulting  remarks  which  I  brought  upon  myself 
when  I  deplored  the  battle  of  Ostrolenka. 

To  my  honour  be  it  said,  that  these  and  similar  impressions 
helped  to  make  me  give  up  my  low  associates.  During  my 
studies  with  Weinlich  the  only  little  dissipation  I  allowed  myself 
was  my  daily  evening  visit  to  Kintschy,  the  confectioner  in  the 
Klostergasse,  where  I  passionately  devoured  the  latest  news- 
papers. Here  I  found  many  men  who  held  the  same  political 
views  as  myself,  and  I  specially  loved  to  listen  to  the  eager 
political  discussions  of  some  of  the  old  men  who  frequented  the 
place.  The  literary  journals,  too,  began  to  interest  me;  I 
read  a  great  deal,  but  was  not  very  particular  in  my  choice. 
Nevertheless,  I  now  began  to  appreciate  intelligence  and  wit, 
whereas  before  only  the  grotesque  and  the  fantastic  had  had 
any  attraction  for  me. 

My  interest  in  the  issue  of  the  Polish  war,  however,  remained 
paramount.  I  felt  the  siege  and  capture  of  Warsaw  as  a 
personal  calamity.  My  excitement  when  the  remains  of  the 
Polish  army  began  to  pass  through  Leipzig  on  their  way  to 
France  was  indescribable,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the  impres- 
sion produced  upon  me  by  the  first  batch  of  these  unfortunate 


POLISH   EMIGRANTS  73 

soldiers  on  the  occasion  of  their  being  quartered  at  the  Green 
Shield,  a  public-house  in  the  Meat  Market.  Much  as  this 
depressed  me,  I  was  soon  roused  to  a  high  pitch  of  enthusiasm, 
for  in  the  lounge  of  the  Leipzig  Gewandhaus,  where  that  night 
Beethoven's  C  minor  Symphony  was  being  played,  a  group 
of  heroic  figures,  the  principal  leaders  of  the  Polish  revolution, 
excited  my  admiration.  I  felt  more  particularly  attracted  by 
Count  Vincenz  Tyszkiewitcz,  a  man  of  exceptionally  powerful 
physique  and  noble  appearance,  who  impressed  me  by  his 
dignified  and  aristocratic  manner  and  his  quiet  self-reliance  — 
qualities  with  which  I  had  not  met  before.  When  I  saw  a 
man  of  such  kingly  bearing  in  a  tight-fitting  coat  and  red 
velvet  cap,  I  at  once  realised  my  foolishness  in  ever  having 
worshipped  the  ludicrously  dressed  up  little  heroes  of  our 
students'  world.  I  was  delighted  to  meet  this  gentleman  again 
at  the  house  of  my  brother-in-law,  Friedrich  Brockhaus,  where 
I  saw  him  frequently. 

My  brother-in-law  had  the  greatest  pity  and  sympathy  for 
the  Polish  rebels,  and  was  the  president  of  a  committee  whose 
task  it  was  to  look  after  their  interests,  and  for  a  long  time  he 
made  many  personal  sacrifices  for  their  cause. 

The  Brockhaus  establishment  now  became  tremendously  at- 
tractive to  me.  Around  Count  Vincenz  Tyszkiewitcz,  who  re- 
mained the  lodestar  of  this  small  Polish  world,  gathered  a 
great  many  other  wealthy  exiles,  amongst  whom  I  chiefly  re- 
member a  cavalry  captain  of  the  name  of  Bansemer,  a  man 
of  unlimited  kindness,  but  of  a  rather  frivolous  nature;  he 
possessed  a  marvellous  team  of  four  horses  which  he  drove  at 
such  breakneck  speed  as  to  cause  great  annoyance  to  the  people 
of  Leipzig.  Another  man  of  importance  with  whom  I  remem- 
ber dining  was  General  Bern,  whose  artillery  had  made  such 
a  gallant  stand  at  Ostrolenka. 

Many  other  exiles  passed  through  this  hospitable  house, 
some  of  whom  impressed  us  by  their  melancholy,  warlike  bear- 
ing, others  by  their  refined  behaviour.  Vincenz  Tyszkiewitcz, 
however,  remained  my  ideal  of  a  true  man,  and  I  loved  him 
with  a  profound  adoration.  He,  too,  began  to  be  interested 
in  me;  I  used  to  call  upon  him  nearly  every  day,  and  was 
sometimes  present  at  a  sort  of  martial  feast,  from  which  he 


Y4  MY   LIFE 

often  withdrew  in  order  to  be  able  to  open  his  heart  to  me 
about  the  anxieties  which  oppressed  him.  He  had,  in  fact, 
received  absolutely  no  news  of  the  whereabouts  of  his  wife 
and  little  son  since  they  separated  at  Volhynien.  Besides  this, 
he  was  under  the  shadow  of  a  great  sorrow  which  drew  all 
sympathetic  natures  to  him.  To  my  sister  Louise  he  had  con- 
fided the  terrible  calamity  that  had  once  befallen  him.  He 
had  been  married  before,  and  while  staying  with  his  wife  in 
one  of  his  lonely  castles,  in  the  dead  of  night  he  had  seen  a 
ghostly  apparition  at  the  window  of  his  bedroom.  Hearing  his 
name  called  several  times,  he  had  taken  up  a  revolver  to  protect 
himself  from  possible  danger,  and  had  shot  his  own  wife,  who 
had  had  the  eccentric  idea  of  teasing  him  by  pretending  to  be  a 
ghost.  I  had  the  pleasure  of  sharing  his  joy  on  hearing  that 
his  family  was  safe.  His  wife  joined  him  in  Leipzig  with  their 
beautiful  boy,  Janusz.  I  felt  sorry  not  to  be  able  to  feel  the 
same  sympathy  for  this  lady  as  I  did  for  her  husband ;  perhaps 
one  of  the  reasons  of  my  antipathy  was  the  obvious  and  con- 
spicuous way  in  which  she  made  herself  up,  by  means  of  which 
the  poor  woman  probably  tried  to  hide  how  much  her  beauty 
had  suffered  through  the  terrible  strain  of  the  past  events. 
She  soon  went  back  to  Galicia  to  try  and  save  what  she  could 
of  their  property,  and  also  to  provide  her  husband  with  a  pass 
from  the  Austrian  Government,  by  means  of  which  he  could 
follow  her. 

Then  came  the  third  of  May.  Eighteen  of  the  Poles  who 
were  still  in  Leipzig  met  together  at  a  festive  dinner  in  a  hotel 
outside  the  town;  on  this  day  was  to  be  celebrated  the  first 
anniversary  of  the  third  of  May,  so  dear  to  the  memory  of  the 
Poles.  Only  the  chiefs  of  the  Leipzig  Polish  Committee  re- 
ceived invitations,  and  as  a  special  favour  I  also  was  asked. 
I  shall  never  forget  that  occasion.  The  dinner  became  an  orgy ; 
throughout  the  evening  a  brass  band  from  the  town  played 
Polish  folksongs,  and  these  were  sung  by  the  whole  company, 
led  by  a  Lithuanian  called  Zan,  in  a  manner  now  triumphant 
and  now  mournful.  The  beautiful  '  Third  of  May '  song  more 
particularly  drew  forth  a  positive  uproar  of  enthusiasm.  Tears 
and  shouts  of  joy  grew  into  a  terrible  tumult;  the  excited 
men  grouped  themselves  on  the  grass  swearing  eternal  friend- 


CHOLERA   IN   BRUNN  75 

ship  in  the  most  extravagant  terms,  for  which  the  word 
'  Oiczisna  '  ( Fatherland  )  provided  the  principal  theme,  until  at 
last  night  threw  her  veil  over  this  wild  debauch. 

That  evening  afterwards  served  me  as  the  theme  for  an 
orchestral  composition  (in  the  form  of  an  overture)  named 
Polonia;  I  shall  recount  the  fate  of  this  work  later  on.  My 
friend  Tyszkiewitcz's  passport  now  arrived,  and  he  made  up 
his  mind  to  go  back  to  Galicia  via  Briinn,  although  his  friends 
considered  it  was  very  rash  of  him  to  do  so.  I  very  much 
wanted  to  see  something  of  the  world,  and  Tyszkiewitcz's  offer 
to  take  me  with  him,  induced  my  mother  to  consent  to  my 
going  to  Vienna,  a  place  that  I  had  long  wished  to  visit. 
I  took  with  me  the  scores  of  my  three  overtures  which  had 
already  been  performed,  and  also  that  of  my  great  symphony 
as  yet  unproduced,  and  had  a  grand  time  with  my  Polish 
patron,  who  took  me  in  his  luxurious  travelling-coach  as  far 
as  the  capital  of  Moravia.  During  a  short  stop  at  Dresden 
the  exiles  of  all  classes  gave  our  beloved  Count  a  friendly 
farewell  dinner  in  Pirna,  at  which  the  champagne  flowed  freely, 
while  the  health  was  drunk  of  the  future  '  Dictator  of  Poland/ 

At  last  we  separated  at  Brunn,  from  which  place  I  continued 
my  journey  to  Vienna  by  coach.  During  the  afternoon  and 
night,  which  I  was  obliged  to  spend  in  Brunn  by  myself,  I  went 
through  terrible  agonies  from  fear  of  the  cholera  which,  as  I 
unexpectedly  heard,  had  broken  out  in  this  place.  There  I  was 
all  alone  in  a  strange  place,  my  faithful  friend  just  departed, 
and  on  hearing  of  the  epidemic  I  felt  as  if  a  malicious  demon 
had  caught  me  in  his  snare  in  order  to  annihilate  me.  I  did 
not  betray  my  terror  to  the  people  in  the  hotel,  but  when  I 
was  shown  into  a  very  lonely  wing  of  the  house  and  left  by 
myself  in  this  wilderness,  I  hid  myself  in  bed  with  my  clothes 
on,  and  lived  once  again  through  all  the  horrors  of  ghost 
stories  as  I  had  done  in  my  boyhood.  The  cholera  stood  before 
me  like  a  living  thing;  I  could  see  and  touch  it;  it  lay  in  my 
bed  and  embraced  me.  My  limbs  turned  to  ice,  I  felt  frozen 
to  the  very  marrow.  Whether  I  was  awake  or  asleep  I  never 
knew;  I  only  remember  how  astonished  I  was  when,  on 
awakening,  I  felt  thoroughly  well  and  healthy. 

At  last  I  arrived  in  Vienna,  where  I  escaped  the  epidemic 


76  MY  LIFE 

which  had  penetrated  as  far  as  that  town.  It  was  midsummer 
of  the  year  1832.  Owing  to  the  introductions  I  had  with  me, 
I  found  myself  very  much  at  home  in  this  lively  city,  in  which 
I  made  a  pleasant  stay  of  six  weeks.  As  my  sojourn,  however, 
had  no  really  practical  purpose,  my  mother  looked  upon  the 
cost  of  this  holiday,  short  as  it  seemed,  as  an  unnecessary 
extravagance  on  my  part.  I  visited  the  theatres,  heard  Strauss, 
made  excursions,  and  altogether  had  a  very  good  time.  I  am 
afraid  I  contracted  a  few  debts  as  well,  which  I  paid  off  later 
on  when  I  was  conductor  of  the  Dresden  orchestra.  I  had 
received  very  pleasant  impressions  of  musical  and  theatrical 
life,  and  for  a  long  time  Vienna  lived  in  my  memory  as  the 
acme  of  that  extraordinarily  productive  spirit  peculiar  to  its 
people.  I  enjoyed  most  of  all  the  performances  at  the  Theater 
an  der  Wien,  at  which  they  were  acting  a  grotesque  fairy  play 
called  Die  Abenteuer  Fortunafs  zu  Wasser  und  zu  Land,  in, 
which  a  cab  was  called  on  the  shores  of  the  Black  Sea  and  which 
made  a  tremendous  impression  on  me.  About  the  music  I  was 
more  doubtful.  A  young  friend  of  mine  took  me  with  immense 
pride  to  a  performance  of  Gluck's  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  which 
was  made  doubly  attractive  by  a  first-rate  cast  including 
Wild,  Staudigl  and  Binder:  I  must  confess  that  on  the  whole 
I  was  bored  by  this  work,  but  I  did  not  dare  say  so.  My  ideas 
of  Gluck  had  attained  gigantic  proportions  from  my  reading  of 
Hoffmann's  well-known  Phantasies;  my  anticipation  of  this  work 
therefore,  which  I  had  not  studied  yet,  had  led  me  to  expect  a 
treatment  full  of  overpowering  dramatic  force.  It  is  possible 
that  Schroder-Devrient's  acting  in  Fidelio  had  taught  me  to 
judge  everything  by  her  exalted  standard. 

With  the  greatest  trouble  I  worked  myself  up  to  some  kind 
of  enthusiasm  for  the  great  scene  between  Orestes  and  the 
Furies.  I  hoped  against  hope  that  I  should  be  able  to  admire 
the  remainder  of  the  opera.  I  began  to  understand  the 
Viennese  taste,  however,  when  I  saw  how  great  a  favourite 
the  opera  Zampa  became  with  the  public,  both  at  the 
Karnthner  Thor  and  at  the  Josephstadt.  Both  theatres  com- 
peted vigorously  in  the  production  of  this  popular  work,  and 
although  the  public  had  seemed  mad  about  Iphigenia,  nothing 
equalled  their  enthusiasm  for  Zampa.  No  sooner  had  they 


STKAUSS.    THE    CONSEKVATOIRE  ff 

left  the  Josephstadt  Theatre  in  the  greatest  ecstasies  about 
Zampa  than  they  proceeded  to  the  public-house  called  the 
Strausslein.  Here  they  were  immediately  greeted  by  the 
strains  of  selections  from  Zampa  which  drove  the  audience  to 
feverish  excitement.  I  shall  never  forget  the  extraordinary 
playing  of  Johann  Strauss,  who  put  equal  enthusiasm  into 
everything  he  played,  and  very  often  made  the  audience  almost 
frantic  with  delight. 

At  the  beginning  of  a  new  waltz  this  demon  of  the  Viennese 
musical  spirit  shook  like  a  Pythian  priestess  on  the  tripod, 
and  veritable  groans  of  ecstasy  (which,  without  doubt,  were 
more  due  to  his  music  than  to  the  drinks  in  which  the  audience 
had  indulged)  raised  their  worship  for  the  magic  violinist  to 
almost  bewildering  heights  of  frenzy. 

The  hot  summer  air  of  Vienna  was  absolutely  impregnated 
with  Zampa  and  Strauss.  A  very  poor  students'  rehearsal 
at  the  Conservatoire,  at  which  they  performed  a  Mass  by 
Cherubini,  seemed  to  me  like  an  alms  paid  begrudgingly  to 
the  study  of  classical  music.  At  the  same  rehearsal  one  of 
the  professors,  to  whom  I  was  introduced,  tried  to  make  the 
students  play  my  Overture  in  D  minor  (the  one  already  per- 
formed in  Leipzig).  I  do  not  know  what  his  opinion  was,  nor 
that  of  the  students,  with  regard  to  this  attempt;  I  only  know 
they  soon  gave  it  up. 

On  the  whole  I  had  wandered  into  doubtful  musical  bypaths ; 
and  I  now  withdrew  from  this  first  educational  visit  to  a  great 
European  art  centre  in  order  to  start  on  a  cheap,  but  long 
and  monotonous  return  journey  to  Bohemia,  by  stage-coach. 
My  next  move  was  a  visit  to  the  house  of  Count  Pachta,  of 
whom  I  had  pleasant  recollections  from  my  boyhood  days. 
His  estate,  Pravonin,  was  about  eight  miles  from  Prague.  Re- 
ceived in  the  kindest  possible  way  by  the  old  gentleman  and 
his  beautiful  daughters,  I  enjoyed  his  delightful  hospitality 
until  late  into  the  autumn.  A  youth  of  nineteen,  as  I  then  was,  ^  J 
with  a  fast-growing  beard  (for  which  my  sisters  had  already 
prepared  the  young  ladies  by  letter),  the  continual  and  close 
intimacy  with  such  kind  and  pretty  girls  could  hardly  fail  to 
make  a  strong  impression  on  my  imagination.  Jenny,  the 
elder  of  the  two,  was  slim,  with  black  hair,  blue  eyes,  and 


78  MY   LIFE 

wonderfully  noble  features;  the  younger  one,  Auguste,  was  a 
little  smaller,  and  stouter,  with  a  magnificent  complexion, 
fair  hair,  and  brown  eyes.  The  natural  and  sisterly  manner 
with  which  both  girls  treated  me  and  conversed  with  me  did 
not  blind  me  to  the  fact  that  I  was  expected  to  fall  in  love 
with  one  or  the  other  of  them.  It  amused  them  to  see  how 
embarrassed  I  got  in  my  efforts  to  choose  between  them,  and 
consequently  they  teased  me  tremendously. 

Unfortunately,  I  did  not  act  judiciously  with  regard  to  the 
daughters  of  my  host:  in  spite  of  their  homely  education, 
they  belonged  to  a  very  aristocratic  house,  and  consequently 
hesitated  between  the  hope  of  marrying  men  of  eminent 
position  in  their  own  sphere,  and  the  necessity  of  choosing 
husbands  amongst  the  higher  middle  classes,  who  could  afford 
to  keep  them  in  comfort.  The  shockingly  poor,  almost 
mediaeval,  education  of  the  Austrian  so-called  cavalier,  made 
me  rather  despise  the  latter;  the  girls,  too,  had  suffered  from 
the  same  lack  of  proper  training.  I  soon  noticed  with  disgust 
how  little  they  knew  about  things  artistic,  and  how  much  value 
they  attached  to  superficial  things.  However  much  I  might 
try  to  interest  them  in  those  higher  pursuits  which  had  become 
necessary  to  me,  they  were  incapable  of  appreciating  them. 
I  advocated  a  complete  change  from  the  bad  library  novels, 
which  represented  their  only  reading,  from  the  Italian  operatic 
arias,  sung  by  Auguste,  and,  last  but^not  least,  from  the  horsy, 
insipid  cavaliers,  who  paid  their  court  to  both  Jenny  and  her 
sister  in  the  most  coarse  and  offensive  manner.  My  zeal 
in  this  latter  respect  soon  gave  rise  to  great  unpleasantness. 
I  became  hard  and  insulting,  harangued  them  about  the 
French  Revolution,  and  begged  them  with  fatherly  admoni- 
tions (  for  the  love  of  heaven '  to  be  content  with  well-educated 
middle-class  men,  and  give  up  those  impertinent  suitors  who 
could  only  harm  their  reputation.  The  indignation  provoked 
by  my  friendly  advice  I  often  had  to  ward  off  with  the  harshest 
retorts.  I  never  apologised,  but  tried  by  dint  of  real  or  feigned 
jealousy  to  get  our  friendship  back  on  the  old  footing.  In 
this  way,  undecided,  half  in  love  and  half  angry,  one  cold 
November  day  I  said  good-bye  to  these  pretty  children.  I 
soon  met  the  whole  family  again  at  Prague,  where  I  made 


PRAGUE.    DIONTS  WEBER  79 

a  long  sojourn,  without,  however,  staying  at  the  Count's 
residence. 

My  stay  at  Prague  was  to  be  of  great  musical  importance  to 
me.  I  knew  the  director  of  the  Conservatoire,  Dionys  Weber, 
who  promised  to  bring  my  symphony  before  the  public;  I  also 
spent  much  of  my  time  with  an  actor  called  Moritz,  to  whom, 
as  an  old  friend  of  our  family,  I  had  been  recommended,  and 
there  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  young  musician  Kittl. 

Moritz,  who  noticed  that  not  a  day  passed  but  what  I  went 
to  the  much-feared  chief  of  the  Conservatoire  upon  some 
pressing  musical  business,  once  despatched  me  with  an  impro- 
vised parody  on  Schiller's  Burgschaft:  — 

Zu  Dionys  dem  Direktor  schlich 

Wagner,  die  Partitur  im  Gewande; 

Ihn  schlugen  die  Schuler  im  Bande: 

1  Was  wolltest  du  mil  den  Noten  sprichf ' 

Entgegnet  ihm  finster  der  Wutherich: 

'  Die  Stadt  vom  schlechten  Geschmacke  befreien! 

Das  sollst  du  in  den  Rezensionen  bereuen.' * 

Truly  I  had  to  deal  with  a  kind  of  '  Dionysius  the  Tyrant.' 
A  man  who  did  not  acknowledge  Beethoven's  genius  beyond 
his  Second  Symphony,  a  man  who  looked  upon  the  Eroica  as 
the  acme  of  bad  taste  on  the  master's  part ;  who  praised  Mozart 
alone,  and  next  to  him  tolerated  only  Lindpaintner :  such  a 
man  was  not  easy  to  approach,  and  I  had  to  learn  the  art  of 
making  use  of  tyrants  for  one's  own  purposes.  I  dissimu- 
lated; I  pretended  to  be  struck  by  the  novelty  of  his  ideas, 
never  contradicted  him,  and,  to  point  out  the  similarity  of 
our  standpoints,  I  referred  him  to  the  end  fugue  in  my  Over- 
ture and  in  my  Symphony  (both  in  C  major),  which  I  had  only 
succeeded  in  making  what  they  were  through  having  studied 
Mozart.  My  reward  soon  followed:  Dionys  set  to  work  to 
study  my  orchestral  creations  with  almost  youthful  energy. 

1  To  .Dionys,  the  Director,  crept 
Wagner,  the  score  in  his  pocket; 
The  students  arrested  him  forthwith : 
'  What  do'st  thou  with  that  music,  say?  ' 
Thus  asked  him  the  angry  tyrant : 
'  To  free  the  town  from  taste  too  vile! 
For  this  the  critics  will  make  thee  suffer.' 


80  MY  LIFE 

The  students  of  the  Conservatoire  were  compelled  to  practise 
with  the  greatest  exactitude  my  new  symphony  under  his 
dry  and  terribly  noisy  baton.  In  the  presence  of  several  of 
my  friends,  amongst  whom  was  also  the  dear  old  Count 
Pachta  in  his  capacity  of  President  of  the  Conservatoire 
Committee,  we  actually  held  a  first  performance  of  the  greatest 
work  that  I  had  written  up  to  that  date. 

During  these  musical  successes  I  went  on  with  my  love- 
making  in  the  attractive  house  of  Count  Pachta,  under  the 
most  curious  circumstances.  A  confectioner  of  the  name  of 
Hascha  was  my  rival.  He  was  a  tall,  lanky  young  man  who, 
like  most  Bohemians,  had  taken  up  music  as  a  hobby;  he 
played  the  accompaniments  to  Auguste's  songs,  and  naturally 
fell  in  love  with  her.  Like  myself,  he  hated  the  frequent 
visits  of  the  cavaliers,  which  seemed  to  be  quite  the  custom  in 
this  city;  but  while  my  displeasure  expressed  itself  in  humour, 
his  showed  itself  in  gloomy  melancholy.  This  mood  made 
him  behave  boorishly  in  public :  for  instance,  one  evening,  when 
the  chandelier  was  to  be  lighted  for  the  reception  of  one  of 
these  gentlemen,  he  ran  his  head  purposely  against  this  orna- 
ment and  broke  it.  The  festive  illumination  was  thus  rendered 
impossible;  the  Countess  was  furious,  and  Hascha  had  to 
leave  the  house  never  to  return. 

I  well  remember  that  the  first  time  I  was  conscious  of  any 
feelings  of  love,  these  manifested  themselves  as  pangs  of  jealousy, 
which  had,  however,  nothing  to  do  with  real  love :  this  happened 
one  evening  when  I  called  at  the  house.  The  Countess  kept 
me  by  her  side  in  an  ante-room,  while  the  girls,  beautifully 
dressed  and  gay,  flirted  in  the  reception-room  with  those 
hateful  young  noblemen.  All  I  had  ever  read  in  Hoffmann's 
Tales  of  certain  demoniacal  intrigues,  which  until  that  moment 
had  been  obscure  to  me,  now  became  really  tangible  facts, 
and  I  left  Prague  with  an  obviously  unjust  and  exagger- 
ated opinion  of  those  things  and  those  people,  through  whom 
I  had  suddenly  been  dragged  into  an  unknown  world  of 
elementary  passions. 

On  the  other  hand  I  had  gained  by  my  stay  at  Pravonin: 
I  had  written  poetry  as  well  as  musical  compositions.  My 
musical  work  was  a  setting  of  Glockentone,  a  poem  by  the 


IDEA  FOR  A  NOVEL  81 

friend  of  my  youth,  Theodor  Apel.  I  had  already  written  an 
aria  for  soprano  which  had  been  performed  the  winter  before 
at  one  of  the  theatre  concerts.  But  my  new  work  was  decidedly 
the  first  vocal  piece  I  had  written  with  real  inspiration;  gener- 
ally speaking,  I  suppose  it  owed  its'  characteristics  to  the 
influence  of  Beethoven's  Liederkreis :  all  the  same,  the  impres- 
sion that  it  has  left  on  my  mind  is  that  it  was  absolutely  part 
of  myself,  and  pervaded  by  a  delicate  sentimentality  which  was 
brought  into  relief  by  the  dreaminess  of  the  accompaniment. 
My  poetical  efforts  lay  in  the  direction  of  a  sketch  of  a  tragi- 
operatic  subject,  which  I  finished  in  its  entirety  in  Prague  under 
the  title  of  Die  Hochzeit  (l  The  Wedding').  I  wrote  it  with- 
out anybody's  knowledge,  and  this  was  no  easy  matter,  seeing 
that  I  could  not  write  in  my  chilly  little  hotel-room,  and  had 
therefore  to  go  to  the  house  of  Moritz,  where  I  generally  spent 
my  mornings.  I  remember  how  I  used  quickly  to  hide  my 
manuscript  behind  the  sofa  as  soon  as  I  heard  my  host's 
footsteps. 

An  extraordinary  episode  was  connected  with  the  plot  of 
this  work. 

Already  years  ago  I  had  come  across  a  tragic  story,  whilst 
perusing  Biisching's  book  on  chivalry,  the  like  of  which  I  have 
never  since  read.  A  lady  of  noble  birth. had  been  assaulted  one 
night  by  a  man  who  secretly  cherished  a  passionate  love  for  her, 
and  in  the  struggle  to  defend  her  honour  superhuman  strength 
was  given  her  to  fling  him  into  the  courtyard  below.  The 
mystery  of  his  death  remained  unexplained  until  the  day  of  his 
solemn  obsequies,  when  the  lady  herself,  who  attended  them 
and  was  kneeling  in  solemn  prayer,  suddenly  fell  forward 
and  expired.  The  mysterious  strength  of  this  profound  and 
passionate  story  made  an  indelible  impression  upon  my  mind. 
Fascinated,  moreover,  by  the  peculiar  treatment  of  similar 
phenomena  in  Hoffmann's  Tales,  I  sketched  a  novel  in  which 
musical  mysticism,  which  I  still  loved  so  deeply,  played  an 
"impoFfanT  "part.  The  action  was  supposed  to  take  place  on 
the  estate  of  a  rich  patron  of  the  fine  arts:  a  young  couple 
was  going  to  be  married,  and  had  invited  the  friend  of  the  bride- 
groom, an  interesting  but  melancholy  and  mysterious  young 
man,  to  their  wedding.  Intimately  connected  with  the  whole 


82  MY   LIFE 

affair  was  a  strange  old  organist.  The  mystic  relations  which 
gradually  developed  between  the  old  musician,  the  melancholy 
young  man  and  the  bride,  were  to  grow  out  of  the  unravelment 
of  certain  intricate  events,  in  a  somewhat  similar  manner  to 
that  of  the  mediaeval  story  above  related.  Here  was  the 
same  idea:  the  young  man  mysteriously  killed,  the  equally 
strange  sudden  death  of  his  friend's  bride,  and  the  old  organist 
found  dead  on  his  bench  after  the  playing  of  an  impressive 
requiem,  the  last  chord  of  which  was  inordinately  prolonged 
as  if  it  never  would  end. 

I  never  finished  this  novel:  but  as  I  wanted  to  write  the 
libretto  for  an  opera,  I  took  up  the  theme  again  in  its  original 
shape,  and  built  on  this  (as  far  as  the  principal  features  went) 
the  following  dramatic  plot :  — 

Two  great  houses  had  lived  in  enmity,  and  had  at  last  decided 
to  end  the  family  feud.  The  aged  head  of  one  of  these  houses 
invited  the  son  of  his  former  enemy  to  the  wedding  of  his 
daughter  with  one  of  his  faithful  partisans.  The  wedding  feast 
is  thus  used  as  an  opportunity  for  reconciling  the  two  families. 
Whilst  the  guests  are  full  of  the  suspicion  and  fear  of  treachery, 
their  young  leader  falls  violently  in  love  with  the  bride  of  his 
newly  found  ally.  His  tragic  glance  deeply  affects  her;  the 
festive  escort  accompanies  her  to  the  bridal  chamber,  where 
she  is  to  await  her  beloved;  leaning  against  her  tower-window 
she  sees  the  same  passionate  eyes  fixed  on  her,  and  realises 
that  she  is  face  to  face  with  a  tragedy. 

When  he  penetrates  into  her  chamber,  and  embraces  her 
with  frantic  passion,  she  pushes  him  backwards  towards  the 
balcony,  and  throws  him  over  the  parapet  into  the  abyss, 
from  whence  his  mutilated  remains  are  dragged  by  his  com- 
panions. They  at  once  arm  themselves  against  the  presumed 
treachery,  and  call  for  vengeance;  tumult  and  confusion  fill 
the  courtyard:  the  interrupted  wedding  feast  threatens  to 
end  in  a  night  of  slaughter.  The  venerable  head  of  the  house 
at  last  succeeds  in  averting  the  catastrophe.  Messengers  are 
sent  to  bear  the  tidings  of  the  mysterious  calamity  to  the  rela- 
tives of  the  victim:  the  corpse  itself  shall  be  the  medium  of 
reconciliation,  for,  in  the  presence  of  the  different  generations 
of  the  suspected  family,  Providenoc  itself  shall  decide  which 


'DIE    HOCHZEIT'  83 

of  its  members  has  been  guilty  of  treason.     During  the  prepara- 
tions for  the  obsequies  the  bride  shows  signs  of  approaching 
madness;    she  flies  from  her  bridegroom,  refuses  to  be  united 
to  him,  and  locks  herself  up  in  her  tower-chamber.     Only  when, 
at  night,   the  gloomy  though  gorgeous   ceremony  commences, 
does  she  appear  at  the  head  of  her  women  to  be  present  at  the 
burial  service,  the  gruesome  solemnity  of  which  is  interrupted 
by  the  news  of  the  approach  of  hostile  forces  and  then  by  the 
armed  attack  of  the  kinsmen  of  the  murdered  man.     When  the 
avengers  of  the  presumed  treachery  penetrate  into  the  chapel 
and  call  upon  the  murderer  to  declare  himself,  the  horrified 
lord  of  the  manor  points  towards  his  daughter  who,  turning 
away  from  her  bridegroom,  falls  lifeless  by  the  coffin  of  her 
victim.    This  nocturnal  drama,  through  which  ran  reminiscences 
of  Leubald  und  Adelaide   (the  work  of  my  far-off  boyhood), 
I  wrote  in  the  darkest  vein,  but  in  a  more  polished  and  more 
noble  style,  disdaining  all  light-effects,  and  especially  all  operatic^, 
embellishments.     Tender  passages  occurred  here  and  there  all 
the  same,   and  Weinlich,  to  whom  I  had  already  shown  the 
beginning  of  my  work  on  my  return  to  Leipzig,  praised  me  for    / 
the  clearness  and  good  vocal  quality  of  the  introduction  I  had  / 
composed  to  the  first  act ;  this  was  an  Adagio  for  a  vocal  septette/' 
in  which  I  had  tried  to  express  the  reconciliation  of  the  hostile 
families,  together  with  the  emotions  of  the  wedded  couple  and 
the  sinister  passion  of  the  secret  lover.     My  principal  object 
was,  all  the  same,  to  win  my  sister  Rosalie's  approval.     My 
poem,  however,  did  not  find  favour  in  her  eyes:  she  missed 
all  that  which  I  had  purposely  avoided,  insisted  on  the  orna- 
mentation   and    development    of    the    simple    situation,    and 
desired  more  brightness  generally.     I  made  up  my  mind  in  an 
instant:    I    took    the    manuscript,    and    without    a    suggestion 
of  ill-temper,   destroyed  it  there  and  then.     This  action  had  " 
nothing  whatever  to  do  with  wounded  vanity.    It  was  prompted  < 
merely  by  my  desire  honestly  to  prove  to  my  sister  how  little  , 
I  thought  of  my  own  work  and  how  much  I  cared  for  her ; 
opinion.      She   was  held   in  great   and  loving  esteem  by  my 
mother  and  by  the  rest  of  our  family,  for  she  was  their  principal 
breadwinner:   the  important  salary  she  earned   as   an  actress 
constituted  nearly  the  whole  income  out  of  which  my  mother 


84  MY   LIFE 

had  to  defray  the  household  expenses.  For  the  sake  of  her 
profession  she  enjoyed  many  advantages  at  home.  Her  part 
of  the  house  had  been  specially  arranged  so  that  she  should  have 
all  the  necessary  comfort  and  peace  for  her  studies ;  on  market- 
ing days,  when  the  others  had  to  put  up  with  the  simplest  fare, 
she  had  to  have  the  same  dainty  food  as  usual.  But  more 
than  any  of  these  things  did  her  charming  gravity  and  her 
refined  way  of  speaking  place  her  above  the  younger  children. 
She  was  thoughtful  and  gentle  and  never  joined  us  in  our  rather 
loud  conversation.  Of  course,  I  had  been  the  one  member  of 
the  family  who  had  caused  the  greatest  anxieties  both  to  my 
mother  and  to  my  motherly  sister,  and  during  my  life  as  a 
student  the  strained  relations  between  us  had  made  a  terrible 
impression  on  me.  When  therefore  they  tried  to  believe  in 
me  again,  and  once  more  showed  some  interest  in  my  work, 
I  was  full  of  gratitude  and  happiness.  The  thought  of  getting  [ 
this  sister  to  look  kindly  upon  my  aspirations,  and  even  to 
expect  great  things  of  me,  had  become  a  special  stimulus  to 
my  ambition.  Under  these  circumstances  a  tender  and 
almost  sentimental  relationship  grew  up  between  Rosalie  and 
myself,  which  in  its  purity  and  sincerity  could  vie  with  the/ 
noblest  form  of  friendship  between  man  and  woman.  This  wag 
principally  due  to  her  exceptional  individuality.  She  had  not 
any  real  talent,  at  least  not  for  acting,  which  had  often  been) 
considered  stagey  and  unnatural.  Nevertheless  she  was  much) 
appreciated  owing  to  her  charming  appearance  as  well  as  to  her/ 
pure  and  dignified  womanliness,  and  I  remember  many  tokens, 
of  esteem  which  she  received  in  those  days.  All  the  same, 
none  of  these  advances  ever  seemed  to  lead  to  the  prospect  of 
a  marriage,  and  year  by  year  went  by  without  bringing  her 
hopes  of  a  suitable  match  —  a  fact  which  to  me  appeared  quite 
unaccountable.  From  time  to  time  I  thought  I  noticed  that 
Rosalie  suffered  from  this  state  of  affairs.  I  remember  one  even- 
ing when,  believing  herself  to  be  alone,  I  heard  her  sobbing  and 
moaning;  I  stole  away  unnoticed,  but  her  grief  made  such  an 
impression  upon  me  that  from  that  moment  I  vowed  to  bring 
some  joy  into  her  life,  principally  by  making  a  name  for  myself. 
Not  without  reason  had  our  stepfather  Geyer  given  my  gentle 
sister  the  nickname  of  '  Geistchen '  (little  spirit),  for  if  her 


HEINRICH   LAUBE  85 

talent  as  an  actress  was  not  great,  her  imagination  and  her  love  of 
art  and  of  all  high  and  noble  things  were  perhaps,  on  that  ac- 
count alone,  all  the  greater.  From  her  lips  I  had  first  heard 
expressions  of  admiration  and  delight  concerning  those  subjects 
which  became  dear  to  me  later  on,  and  she  moved  amongst  a 
circle  of  serious  and  interesting  people  who  loved  the  higher 
things  of  life  without  this  attitude  ever  degenerating  into 
affectation. 

On  my  return  from  my  long  journey  I  was  introduced  to 
Heinrich  Laube,  whom  my  sister  had  added  to  her  list  of  inti- 
mate friends.  It  was  at  the  time  when  the  after-effects  of  the 
July  revolution  were  beginning  to  make  themselves  felt  amongst 
the  younger  men  of  intellect  in  Germany,  and  of  these  Laube 
was  one  of  the  most  conspicuous.  As  a  young  man  he  came 
from  Silesia  to  Leipzig,  his  principal  object  being  to  try  and 
form  connections  in  this  publishing  centre  which  might  be  of 
use  to  him  in  Paris,  whither  he  was  going,  and  from  which  place 
Borne  also  made  a  sensation  amongst  us  by  his  letters.  On 
this  occasion  Laube  was  present  at  a  representation  of  a  play 
by  Ludwig  Robert,  Die  Macht  der  Verhaltnisse  ('  The  Power  of 
Circumstances').  This  induced  him  to  write  a  criticism  for 
the  Leipzig  Tageblatt,  which  made  such  a  sensation  through 
its  terse  and  lively  style  that  he  was  at  once  offered,  in  addition 
to  other  literary  work,  the  post  of  editor  of  Die  elegante  Welt. 
In  our  house  he  was  looked  upon  as  a  genius ;  his  curt  and  often 
biting  manner  of  speaking,  which  seemed  to  exclude  all  attempt 
at  poetic  expression,  made  him  appear  both  original  and  daring : 
his  sense  of  justice,  his  sincerity  and  fearless  bluntness  made 
one  respect  his  character,  hardened  as  it  had  been  in  youth  by 
great  adversity.  On  me  he  had  a  very  inspiring  effect,  and  I 
was  very  much  astonished  to  find  that  he  thought  so  much 
of  me  as  to  write  a  flattering  notice  about  my  talent  in  his 
paper  after  hearing  the  first  performance  of  my  symphony. 

This  performance  took  place  in  the  beginning  of  the  year 
1833  at  the  Leipzig  Schneider-Herberge.  It  was,  by  the  bye, 
in  this  dignified  old  hall  that  the  society  '  Euterpe  '  held  its 
concerts!  The  place  was  dirty,  narrow,  and  poorly  lighted, 
and  it  was  here  that  my  work  was  introduced  to  the  Leipzig 
public  for  the  first  time,  and  by  means  of  an  orchestra  that 


86  MY   LIFE 

interpreted  it  simply  disgracefully.  I  can  only  think  of  that 
evening  as  a  gruesome  nightmare;  and  my  astonishment  was 
therefore  all  the  greater  at  seeing  the  important  notice  which 
Laube  wrote  about  the  performance.  Full  of  hope,  I  therefore 
looked  forward  to  a  performance  of  the  same  work  at  the 
Gewandhaus  concert,  which  followed  soon  after,  and  which 
came  off  brilliantly  in  every  way.  It  was  well  received  and 
well  spoken  of  in  all  the  papers;  of  real  malice  there  was  not 
a  trace  —  on  the  contrary,  several  notices  were  encouraging, 
and  Laube,  who  had  quickly  become  celebrated,  confided  to 
me  that  he  was  going  to  offer  me  a  libretto  for  an  opera,  which 
he  had  first  written  for  Meyerbeer.  This  staggered  me  some- 
what, for  I  was  not  in  the  least  prepared  to  pose  as  a  poet,  and 
my  only  idea  was  to  write  a  real  plot  for  an  opera.  As  to  the 
precise  manner,  however,  in  which  such  a  book  had  to  be 
written,  I  already  had  a  very  definite  and  instinctive  notion, 
and  I  was  strengthened  in  the  certainty  of  my  own  feelings  i 
the  matter  when  Laube  now  explained  the  nature  of  his  plot 
to  me.  He  fold  me  that  he  wanted  to  arrange  nothing  less 
than  Kosziusko  into  a  libretto  for  grand  opera !  Once  again 
I  had  qualms,  for  I  felt  at  once  that  Laube  had  a  mistaken  idea 
about  the  character  of  a  dramatic  subject.  When  I  inquired 
into  the  real  action  of  the  play,  Laube  was  astonished  that  I 
should  expect  more  than  the  story  of  the  Polish  hero,  whose 
life  was  crowded  with  incident;  in  any  case,  he  thought  there 
was  quite  sufficient  action  in  it  to  describe  the  unhappy  fate 
of  a  whole  nation.  Of  course  the  usual  heroine  was  not  missing ; 
she  was  a  Polish  girl  who  had  a  love  affair  with  a  Russian; 
and  in  this  way  some  sentimental  situations  were  also  to  Ipe 
found  in  the  plot.  Without  a  moment's  delay  I  assured  my 
sister  Rosalie  that  I  would  not  set  this  story  to  music:  she 
agreed  with  me,  and  begged  me  only  to  postpone  my  answer 
to  Laube.  My  journey  to  Wiirzburg  was  of  great  help  to  me 
in  this  respect,  for  it  was  easier  to  write  my  decision  to  Laube 
than  to  announce  it  to  him  personally.  He  accepted  the  slight 
rebuff  with  good  grace,  but  he  never  forgave  me,  either  then 
or  afterwards,  for  writing  my  own  words ! 

When  he  heard  what  subject  I  had  preferred  to  his  brilliant 
political  poem,  he  made  no  effort  to  conceal  his  contempt  for 


'DIE    FEEN'  87 

my  choice.  I  had  borrowed  the  plot  from  a  dramatic  fairy-"" 
tale  by  Gozzi,  La  Donna  Serpente,  and  called  it  Die  Feen 
('The  Fairies').  The  names  of  my  heroes  I  chose  from  different. 
Ossian  and  similar  poems:  my  prince  was  called  Arindal; 
he  was  loved  by  a  fairy  called  Ada,  who  held  him  under  her 
spell  and  kept  him  in  fairyland,  away  from  his  realm,  until 
his  faithful  friends  at  last  found  him  and  induced  him  to  return, 
for  his  country  was  going  to  rack  and  ruin,  and  even  its  capital 
had  fallen  into  the  enemy's  hands.  The  loving  fairy  herself 
sends  the  prince  back  to  his  country ;  for  the  oracle  has  decreed 
that  she  shall  lay  upon  her  lover  the  severest  of  tasks.  Only 
by  performing  this  task  triumphantly  can  he  make  it  possible 
for  her  to  leave  the  immortal  world  of  fairies  in  order  to  share 
the  fate  of  her  earthly  lover,  as  his  wife.  In  a  moment  of 
deepest  despair  about  the  state  of  his  country,  the  fairy  queen 
appears  to  him  and  purposely  destroys  his  faith  in  her  by  deeds 
of  the  most  cruel  and  inexplicable  nature.  Driven  mad  by  a 
thousand  fears,  Arindal  begins  to  imagine  that  all  the  time 
he  has  been  dealing  with  a  wicked  sorceress,  and  tries  to  escape 
the  fatal  spell  by  pronouncing  a  curse  upon  Ada.  Wild  with 
sorrow,  the  unhappy  fairy  sinks  down,  and  reveals  their  mutual 
fate  to  the  lover,  now  lost  to  her  for  ever,  and  tells  him  that, 
as  a  punishment  for  having  disobeyed  the  decree  of  Fate,  she  is 
doomed  to  be  turned  into  stone  (in  Gozzi's  version  she  becomes 
a  serpent).  Immediately  afterwards  it  appears  that  all  the 
catastrophes  which  the  fairy  had  prophesied  were  but  decep- 
tions :  victory  over  the  enemy  as  well  as  the  growing  prosperity 
and  welfare  of  the  kingdom  now  follow  in  quick  succession: 
Ada  is  taken  away  by  the  Fates,  and  Arindal,  a  raving  madman, 
remains  behind  alone.  The  terrible  sufferings  of  his  madness 
do  not,  however,  satisfy  the  Fates :  to  bring  about  his  utter 
ruin  they  appear  before  the  repentant  man  and  invite  him  to 
follow  them  to  the  nether  world,  on  the  pretext  of  enabling  him 
to  free  Ada  from  the  spell.  Through  the  treacherous  promises 
of  the  wicked  fairies  Arindal's  madness  grows  into  sublime 
exaltation;  and  one  of  his  household  magicians,  a  faithful 
friend,  having  in  the  meantime  equipped  him  with  magic 
weapons  and  charms,  he  now  follows  the  traitresses.  The 
latter  cannot  get  over  their  astonishment  when  they  see  how 


88  MY   LIFE 

Arindal  overcomes  one  after  the  other  of  the  monsters  of  the 
infernal  regions :  only  when  they  arrive  at  the  vault  in  which 
they  show  him  the  stone  in  human  shape  do  they  recover  their 
hope  of  vanquishing  the  valiant  prince,  for,  unless  he  can 
break  the  charm  which  binds  Ada,  he  must  share  her  fate  and 
be  doomed  to  remain  a  stone  for  ever.  Arindal,  who  until 
then  has  been  using  the  dagger  and  the  shield  given  him  by 
the  friendly  magician,  now  makes  use  of  an  instrument  —  a 
lyre  —  which  he  has  brought  with  him,  and  the  meaning  of 
which  he  had  not  yet  understood.  To  the  sounds  of  this 
instrument  he  now  expresses  his  plaintive  moans,  his  remorse, 
and  his  overpowering  longing  for  his  enchanted  queen.  The 
stone  is  moved  by  the  magic  of  his  love:  the  beloved  one  is 
released.  Fairyland  with  all  its  marvels  opens  its  portals,  and 
the  mortal  learns  that,  owing  to  his  former  inconstancy,  Ada 
has  lost  the  right  to  become  his  wife  on  earth,  but  that  her 
beloved,  through  his  great  and  magic  power,  has  earned  the 
right  to  live  for  ever  by  her  side  in  fairyland. 

Although  I  had  written  Die  Hochzeit  in  the  darkest  vein, 
without  operatic  embellishments,  I  painted  this  subject  with 
the  utmost  colour  and  variety.  In  contrast  to  the  lovers  out 
of  fairyland  I  depicted  a  more  ordinary  couple,  and  I  even 
introduced  a  third  pair  that  belonged  to  the  coarser  and  more 
comical  servant  world.  I  purposely  went  to  no  pains  in  the 
matter  of  the  poetic  diction  and  the  verse.  My  idea  was  not 

encourage  my  former  hopes  of  making  a  name  as  a  poet; 

was  now  really  a  '  musician '  and  a  '  composer,'  and  wished 
to  write  a  decent  opera  libretto  simply  because  I  was  sure 
that  nobody  else  could  write  one  for  me;  the  reason  being  that 
such  a  book  is  something  quite  unique  and  cannot  be  written 
either  by  a  poet  or  by  a  mere  man  of  letters.  With  the  intention 

setting  this  libretto  to  music,  I  left  Leipzig  in  January,  1833, 
stay  in  Wiirzburg  with  my  eldest  brother  Albert,  who  at 
the  time  held  an  appointment  at  the  theatre.     It  now  seemed 
sssary  for  me  to  begin  to  apply  my  musical  knowledge  to 
a  practical  purpose,  and  to  this  end  my  brother  had  promised 
'1  to  help  me  in  getting  some  kind  of  post  at  the  small  Wiirzburg 
\  theatre.    I  travelled  by  post  to  Bamberg  via  Hof,  and  in  Bam- 
""txfrg  I  stayed  a  few  days  in  the  company  of  a  young  man 


BROTHER   ALBERT  89 

called  Schunke,  who  from  a  player  on  the  horn  had  become  an 
actor.  With  the  greatest  interest  I  learned  the  story  of  Caspar 
Hauser,  who  at  that  time  was  very  well  known,  and  who  (if 
I  am  not  mistaken)  was  pointed  ont  to  me.  In  addition  to 
this,  I  admired  the  peculiar  costumes  of  the  market-women, 
thought  with  much  interest  of  Hoffmann's  stay  at  this  place, 
and  of  how  it  had  led  to  the  writing  of  his  Tales,  and  resumed 
my  journey  (to  Wiirzburg)  with  a  man  called  Hauderer,  and 
suffered  miserably  from  the  cold  all  the  way. 

My  brother  Albert,  who  was  almost  a  new  acquaintance  to 
me,  did  his  best  to  make  me  feel-  at  home  in  his  not  over 
luxurious  establishment.  He  was  pleased  to  find  me  less  mad 
than  he  had  expected  me  to  be  from  a  certain  letter  with  which 
I  had  succeeded  in  frightening  him  some  time  previously,  and 
he  really  managed  to  procure  me  an  exceptional  occupation 
as  choir-master  at  the  theatre,  for  which  I  received  the  monthly 
fee  of  ten  guilders.  The  remainder  of  the  winter  was  devoted 
to  the  serious  study  of  the  duties  required  of  a  musical  director : 
in  a  very  short  time  I  had  to  tackle  two  new  grand  operas, 
namely,  Marschner's  Vampir  and  Meyerbeer's  Robert  der 
Teufel,  in  both  of  which  the  chorus  played  a  considerable  part. 
At  first  I  felt  absolutely  like  a  beginner,  and  had  to  start  on 
Camilla  von  Paer,  the  score  of  which  was  utterly  unknown  to 
me.  I  still  remember  that  I  felt  I  was  doing  a  thing  which  I 
had  no  right  to  undertake :  I  felt  quite  an  amateur  at  the 
work.  Soon,  however,  Marschner's  score  interested  me  suffi- 
ciently to  make  the  labour  seem  worth  my  while.  The  score 
of  Robert  was  a  great  disappointment  to  me:  from  the  news- 
papers I  had  expected  plenty  of  originality  and  novelty;  I 
could  find  no  trace  of  either  in  this  transparent  work,  and  an 
opera  with  a  finale  like  that  of  the  second  act  could  not  be 
named  in  the  same  breath  with  any  of  my  favourite  works. 
The  only  thing  that  impressed  me  was  the  unearthly  keyed 
trumpet  which,  in  the  last  act,  represented  the  voice  of  the 
mother's  ghost. 

It  was  remarkable  to  observe  the  aesthetic  demoralisation 
into  which  I  now  fell  through  having  daily  to  deal  with  such  a 
work.  I  gradually  lost  my  dislike  for  this  shallow  and  exceed- 
ingly uninteresting  composition  (a  dislike  I  shared  with  many 


90  MY   LIFE 

German  musicians)  in  the  growing  interest  which  I  was  com- 
pelled to  take  in  its  interpretation ;  and  thus  it  happened  that 
the  insipidness  and  affectation  of  the  commonplace  melodies 
ceased  to  concern  me  save  from  the  standpoint  of  their  capa- 
bility of  eliciting  applause  or  the  reverse.  As,  moreover,  my 
future  career  as  musical  conductor  was  at  stake,  my  brother, 
who  was  very  anxious  on  my  behalf,  looked  favourably  on  this 
lack  of  classical  obstinacy  on  my  part,  and  thus  the  ground 
was  gradually  prepared  for  that  decline  in  my  classical  taste 
which  was  destined  to  last  some  considerable  time. 

All  the  same,  this  did  not  occur  before  I  had  given  some 
proof  of  my  great  inexperience  in  the  lighter  style  of  writing. 
My  brother  wanted  to  introduce  a  '  Cavatine  '  from  the  Piraten, 
by  Bellini,  into  the  same  composer's  opera,  Siraniera;  the 
score  was  not  to  be  had,  and  he  entrusted  me  with  the  instru- 
mentation of  this  work.  From  the  piano  score  alone  I  could 
not  possibly  detect  the  heavy  and  noisy  instrumentation  of 
the  ritornelles  and  intermezzi  which,  musically,  were  so  very 
thin ;  the  composer  of  a  great  C  major  Symphony  with  an  end 
fugue  could  only  help  himself  out  of  the  difficulty  by  the  use 
of  a  few  flutes  and  clarinets  playing  in  thirds.  At  the 
rehearsal  the  '  Cavatine '  sounded  so  frightfully  thin  and 
shallow  that  my  brother  made  me  serious  reproaches  about 
the  waste  of  copying  expenses.  But  I  had  my  revenge:  to 
the  tenor  aria  of  '  Aubry '  in  Marschner's  Vampir  I  added  an 
Allegro,  for  which  I  also  wrote  the  words. 

My  work  succeeded  splendidly,  and  earned  the  praise  of 
both  the  public  and  my  brother.  In  a  similar  German  style 
I  wrote  the  music  to  my  Feen  in  the  course  of  the  year  1833. 
My  brother  and  his  wife  left  Wiirzburg  after  Easter  in  order 
to  avail  themselves  of  several  invitations  at  friends'  houses; 
I  stayed  behind  with  the  children  —  three  little  girls  of  tender 
years  —  which  placed  me  in  the  extraordinary  position  of  a 
responsible  guardian,  a  post  for  which  I  was  not  in  the  least 
suited  at  that  time  of  my  life.  My  time  was  divided  between 
my  work  and  pleasure,  and  in  consequence  I  neglected  my 
charges.  Amongst  the  friends  I  made  there,  Alexander 
Miiller  had  much  influence  over  me;  he  was  a  good  musician 
and  pianist,  and  I  used  to  listen  for  hours  to  his  improvisations 


91 

on  given  themes  —  an  accomplishment  in  which  he  so  greatly 
excelled,  that  I  could  not  fail  to  be  impressed.  With  him  and 
some  other  friends,  amongst  whom  was  also  Valentin  Hamm, 
I  often  made  excursions  in  the  neighbourhood,  on  which 
occasions  the  Bavarian  beer  and  the  Frankish  wine  were  wont 
to  fly.  Valentin  Hamm  was  a  grotesque  individual,  who 
entertained  us  often  with  his  excellent  violin  playing;  he  had 
an  enormous  stretch  on  the  piano,  for  he  could  reach  an  interval 
of  a  twelfth.  Der  Letzte  Hieb,  a  public  beer-garden  situated  on 
a  pleasant  height,  was  a  daily  witness  of  my  fits  of  wild  and 
often  enthusiastic  boisterousness ;  never  once  during  those 
mild  summer  nights  did  I  return  to  my  charges  without  having 
waxed  enthusiastic  over  art  and  the  world  in  general.  I  also 
remember  a  wicked  trick  which  has  always  remained  a  blot 
in  my  memory.  Amongst  my  friends  was  a  fair  and  very 
enthusiastic  Swabian  called  Frohlich,  with  whom  I  had  ex- 
changed my  score  of  the  C  minor  Symphony  for  his,  which 
he  had  copied  out  with  his  own  hand.  This  very  gentle,  but 
rather  irritable  young  man  had  taken  such  a  violent  dislike 
to  one  Andre,  whose  malicious  face  I  also  detested,  that  he 
declared  that  this  person  spoilt  his  evenings  for  him,  merely 
by  being  in  the  same  room  with  him.  The  unfortunate  object 
of  his  hatred  tried  all  the  same  to  meet  us  whenever  he  could: 
friction  ensued,  but  Andre  would  insist  upon  aggravating  us. 
One  evening  Frohlich  lost  patience.  After  some  insulting 
retort,  he  tried  to  chase  him  from  our  table  by  striking  him 
with  a  stick:  the  result  was  a  fight  in  which  Frolich's  friends 
felt  they  must  take  part,  though  they  all  seemed  to  do  so  with 
some  reluctance.  A  mad  longing  to  join  the  fray  also  took 
possession  of  me.  With  the  others  I  helped,  in  knocking  our 
poor  victim  about,  and  I  even  heard  the  sound  of  one  terrible 
blow  which  I  struck  Andre  on  the  head,  whilst  he  fixed  his 
eyes  on  me  in  bewilderment. 

I  relate  this  incident  to  atone  for  a  sin  which  has  weighed 
very  heavily  on  my  conscience  ever  since.  I  can  compare" 
this  sad  experience  only  with  one  out  of  my  earliest  boyhood 
days,  namely  the  drowning  of  some  puppies  in  a  shallow  pool 
behind  my  uncle's  house  in  Eisleben.  Even  to  this  day  I 
cannot  think  of  the  slow  death  of  these  poor  little  creatures 


92  MY   LIFE 

without  horror.  I  have  never  quite  forgotten  some  of  my 
thoughtless  and  reckless  actions;  for  the  sorrows  of  others, 
and  in  particular  those  of  animals,  have  always  affected  me 
deeply  to  the  extent  of  filling  me  with  a  disgust  of  life. 

My  first  love  affair  stands  out  in  strong  contrast  against 
these  recollections.  It  was  only  natural  that  one  of  the  young 
chorus  ladies  with  whom  I  had  to  practise  daily  should  know 
how  to  attract  my  attentions.  Therese  Ringelmann,  the 
daughter  of  a  grave-digger,  thanks  to  her  beautiful  soprano 
voice,  led  me  to  believe  that  I  could  make  a  great  singer  of  her. 
After  I  told  her  of  this  ambitious  scheme,  she  paid  much 
attention  to  her  appearance,  and  dressed  elegantly  for  the 
rehearsals,  and  a  row  of  white  pearls  which  she  wound  through 
her  hair  specially  fascinated  me.  During  the  summer  holidays 
I  gave  Therese  regular  lessons  in  singing,  according  to  a  method 
which  has  always  remained  a  mystery  to  me  ever  since.  I 
also  called  on  her  very  often  at  her  house,  where,  fortunately, 
I  never  met  her  unpleasant  father,  but  always  her  mother  and 
her  sisters.  We  also  met  in  the  public  gardens,  but  false 
vanity  always  kept  me  from  telling  my  friends  of  our  relations. 
I  do  not  know  whether  the  fault  lay  with  her  lowly  birth,  her 
lack  of  education,  or  my  own  doubt  about  the  sincerity  of  my 
affections;  but  in  any  case  when,  in  addition  to  the  fact  that 
I  had  my  reasons  for  being  jealous,  they  also  tried  to  urge  me 
to  a  formal  engagement,  this  love  affair  came  quietly  to  an  end. 

An  infinitely  more  genuine  affair  was  my  love  for  Friederike 
Galvani,  the  daughter  of  a  mechanic,  who  was  undoubtedly  of 
Italian  origin.  She  was  very  musical,  and  had  a  lovely  voice ; 
my  brother  had  patronised  her  and  helped  her  to  a  debut  at 
his  theatre,  which  test  she  stood  brilliantly.  She  was  rather 
small,  but  had  large  dark  eyes  and  a  sweet  disposition.  The 
first  oboist  of  the  orchestra,  a  good  fellow  as  well  as  a 
clever  musician,  was  thoroughly  devoted  to  her.  He  was 
looked  upon  as  her  fiance,  but,  owing  to  some  incident  in  his 
past,  he  was  not  allowed  to  visit  at  her  parents'  house,  and  the 
marriage  was  not  to  take  place  for  a  long  time  yet.  When  the 
autumn  of  my  year  in  Wiirzburg  drew  near,  I  received  an 
invitation  from  friends  to  be  present  at  a  country  wedding 
at  a  little  distance  from  Wiirzburg;  the  oboist  and  his  fiancee 


had  also  been  invited.  It  was  a  jolly,  though  primitive 
affair;  we  drank  and  danced,  and  I  even  tried  my  hand  at 
violin  playing,  but  I  must  have  forgotten  it  badly,  for  even 
with  the  second  violin  I  could  not  manage  to  satisfy  the  other 
musicians.  But  my  success  with  Friederike  was  all  the  greater ; 
we  danced  like  mad  through  the  many  couples  of  peasants 
until  at  one  moment  we  got  so  excited  that,  losing  all  self- 
control,  we  embraced  each  other  while  her  real  lover  was 
playing  the  dance  music.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  began 
to  feel  a  flattering  sensation  of  self-respect  when  Friederike's 
fiance,  on  seeing  how  we  two  flirted,  accepted  the  situation 
with  good  grace,  if  not  without  some  sadness.  I  had  never 
had  the  chance  of  thinking  that  I  could  make  a  favourable 
impression  on  any  young  girl.  I  never  imagined  myself  good- 
looking,  neither  had  I  ever  thought  it  possible  that  I  could 
attract  the  attention  of  pretty  girls. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  had  gradually  acquired  a  certain  self- 
reliance  in  mixing  with  men  of  my  own  age.  Owing  to  the 
exceptional  vivacity  and  innate  susceptibility  of  my  nature  — 
qualities  which  were  brought  home  to  me  in  my  relations 
with  members  of  my  circle  —  I  gradually  became  conscious  of 
a  certain  power  of  transporting  or  bewildering  my  more  indolent  • 
companions. 

From  my  poor  oboist's  silent  self-control  on  becoming  aware 
of  the  ardent  advances  of  his  betrothed  towards  me,  I 
acquired,  as  I  have  said,  the  first  suggestion  of  the  fact  that 
I  might  count  for  something,  not  only  among  men,  but  also 
among  women.  The  Frankish  wine  helped  to  bring  about  a 
state  of  ever  greater  confusion,  and  under  the  cover  of  its 
influence  I  at  length  declared  myself,  quite  openly,  to  be 
Friederike's  lover.  Ever  so  far  into  the  night,  in  fact,  when 
day  was  already  breaking,  we  set  off  home  together  to  Wiirz- 
burg  in  an  open  wagon.  This  was  the  crowning  triumph  of 
my  delightful  adventure;  for  while  all  the  others,  including, 
in  the  end,  the  jealous  oboist,  slept  off  their  debauch  in  the 
face  of  the  dawning  day,  I,  with  my  cheek  against  Friederike's, 
and  listening  to  the  warbling  of  the  larks,  watched  the  coming 
of  the  rising  sun. 

On  the  following  day  we  had  scarcely  any  idea  of  what  had 


94:  MY   LIFE 

happened.  A  certain  sense  of  shame,  which  was  not  unbecom- 
ing, held  us  aloof  from  one  another:  and  yet  I  easily  won 
access  to  Friederike's  family,  and  from  that  time  forward  was 
daily  a  welcome  guest,  when  for  some  hours  I  would  linger 
in  unconcealed  intimate  intercourse  with  the  same  domestic 
circle  from  which  the  unhappy  betrothed  remained  excluded. 
No  word  was  ever  mentioned  of  this  last  connection;  never 
once  did  it  even  dawn  upon  Friederike  to  effect  any  change  in 
the  state  of  affairs,  and  it  seemed  to  strike  no  one  that  I  ought, 
so  to  speak,  to  take  the  fiance's  place.  The  confiding  manner 
in  which  I  was  received  by  all,  and  especially  by  the  girl  herself, 
was  exactly  similar  to  one  of  Nature's  great  processes,  as,  for 
instance,  when  spring  steps  in  and  winter  passes  silently  away. 
Not  one  of  them  ever  considered  the  material  consequences  of 
the  change,  and  this  is  precisely  the  most  charming  and 
flattering  feature  of  this  first  youthful  love  affair,  which  was 
never  to  degenerate  into  an  attitude  which  might  give  rise 
to  suspicion  or  concern.  These  relations  ended  only  with  my 
departure  from  Wiirzburg,  which  was  marked  by  the  most 
touching  and  most  tearful  leavetaking. 

For  some  time,  although  I  kept  up  no  correspondence,  the 
memory  of  this  episode  remained  firmly  imprinted  on  my 
mind.  Two  years  later,  while  making  a  rapid  journey  through 
the  old  district,  I  once  more  visited  Friederike:  the  poor  child 
approached  me  utterly  shamefaced.  Her  oboist  was  still  her 
lover,  and  though  his  position  rendered  marriage  impossible, 
the  unfortunate  young  woman  had  become  a  mother.  I  have 
heard  nothing  more  of  her  since. 

Amid  all  this  traffic  of  love  I  worked  hard  at  my  opera,  and, 
thanks  to  the  loving  sympathy  of  my  sister  Rosalie,  I  was 
able  to  find  the  necessary  good  spirits  for  the  task.  When 
at  the  commencement  of  the  summer  my  earnings  as  a  con- 
ductor came  to  an  end,  this  same  sister  again  made  it  her 
business  loyally  to  provide  me  with  ample  pocket-money,  so 
that  I  might  devote  myself  solely  to  the  completion  of  my 
work,  without  troubling  about  anything  or  being  a  burden  to 
any  one.  At  a  much  later  date  I  came  across  a  letter  of  mine 
written  to  Rosalie  in  those  days,  which  were  full  of  a  tender., 
almost  adoring  love  for  that  noble  creature. 


OVERTURE    IN   C    MAJOR  95 

When  the  winter  was  at  hand  my  brother  returned,  and  the 
theatre  reopened.  Truth  to  tell,  I  did  not  again  become 
connected  with  it,  but  acquired  a  position,  which  was  even 
more  prominent,  in  the  concerts  of  the  Musical  Society  in  which 
I  produced  my  great  overture  in  C  major,  my  symphony,  and 
eventually  portions  of  my  new  opera  as  well.  An  amateur 
with  a  splendid  voice,  Mademoiselle  Friedel,  sang  the  great 
aria  from  Ada.  In  addition  to  this,  a  trio  was  given  which,  in 
one  of  its  passages,  had  such  a  moving  effect  upon  my  brother, 
who  took  part  in  it,  that,  to  his  astonishment,  as  he  himself 
admitted,  he  completely  lost  his  cue  on  account  of  it. 

By  Christmas  my  work  had  come  to  an  end,  my  score  was, 
written  out  complete  with  the  most  laudable  neatness,  and  now 
I  was  to  return  to  Leipzig  for  the  New  Year,  in  order  to  get  my/ 
opera  accepted  by  the  theatre  there.  On  the  way  home  l[ 
visited  Nuremberg,  where  I  stayed  a  week  with  my  sister  Clara 
and  with  her  husband,  who  were  engaged  at  the  theatre  there. 
I  well  remember  how  happy  and  comfortable  I  felt  during  this 
pleasant  visit  to  the  very  same  relatives  who  a  few  years  pre- 
viously, when  I  had  stayed  with  them  at  Magdeburg,  had 
been  upset  by  my  resolve  to  adopt  music  as  a  calling.  Now 
I  had  become  a  real  musician,  had  written  a  grand  opera,  and 
had  already  brought  out  many  things  without  coming  to  grief. 
The  sense  of  all  this  was  a  great  joy  to  me,  while  it  was  no  less 
flattering  to  my  relatives,  who  could  not  fail  to  see  that  the 
supposed  misfortune  had  in  the  end  proved  to  my  advantage. 
I  was  in  a  jolly  mood  and  quite  unrestrained  —  a  state  of  mind 
which  was  very  largely  the  result  not  only  of  my  brother-in- 
law's  cheerful  and  sociable  household,  but  also  of  the  pleasant 
tavern  life  of  the  place.  In  a  much  more  confident  and  elated 
spirit  I  returned  to  Leipzig,  where  I  was  able  to  lay  the  three 
huge  volumes  of  my  score  before  my  highly  delighted  mother 
and  sister. 

Just  then  my  family  was  the  richer  for  the  return  of  my 
brother  Julius  from  his  long  wanderings.  He  had  worked  a 
good  while  in  Paris  as  a  goldsmith,  and  had  now  set  up  for 
himself  in  that  capacity  in  Leipzig.  He  too,  like  the  rest,  was 
eager  to  hear  something  out  of  my  opera,  which,  to  be  sure, 
was  not  so  easy,  as  I  entirely  lacked  the  gift  of  playing  anything 


96  MY   LIFE 

of  the  sort  in  an  easy  and  intelligible  way.  Only  when  I  was 
able  to  work  myself  into  a  state  of  absolute  ecstasy  was  it  pos- 
sible for  me  to  render  something  with  any  effect.  Rosalie  knew 
that  I  meant  it  to  draw  a  sort  of  declaration  of  love  from  her ; 
but  I  have  never  felt  certain  whether  the  embrace  and  the  sis- 
terly kiss  which  were  awarded  me  after  I  had  sung  my  great 
aria  from  Ada,  were  bestowed  on  me  from  real  emotion  or  rather 
out  of  affectionate  regard.  On  the  other  hand,  the  zeal  with 
which  she  urged  my  opera  on  the  director  of  the  theatre,  Ringel- 
hardt,  the  conductor  and  the  manager  was  unmistakable,  and  she 
did  it  so  effectually  that  she  obtained  their  consent  for  its  per- 
formance, and  that  very  speedily.  I  was  particularly  interested 
to  learn  that  the  management  immediately  showed  themselves 
eager  to  try  to  settle  the  matter  of  the  costumes  for  my  drama : 
but  I  was  astonished  to  hear  that  the  choice  was  in  favour  of 
oriental  attire,  whereas  I  had  intended,  by  the  names  I  had 
selected,  to  suggest  a  northern  character  for  the  setting.  But 
it  was  precisely  these  names  which  they  found  unsuitable,  as 
fairy  personages  are  not  seen  in  the  North,  but  only  in  the  East ; 
while  apart  from  this,  the  original  by  Gozzi,  which  formed  the 
basis  of  the  work,  undoubtedly  bore  an  oriental  character.  It 
was  with  the  utmost  indignation  that  I  opposed  the  insuffer- 
able turban  and  caftan  style  of  dress,  and  vehemently  advo- 
cated the  knightly  garb  worn  in  the  early  years  of  the  Middle 
Ages.  I  then  had  to  come  to  a  thorough  understanding  with 
the  conductor,  Stegmayer,  on  the  subject  of  my  score.  He  was 
a  remarkable,  short,  fat  man,  with  fair  curly  hair,  and  an 
exceptionally  jovial  disposition;  he  was,  however,  very  hard 
to  bring  to  a  point.  When  over  our  wine  we  always  arrived 
at  an  understanding  very  quickly,  but  as  soon  as  we  sat  at  the 
piano,  I  had  to  listen  to  the  most  extraordinary  objections  con- 
cerning the  trend  of  which  I  was  for  some  time  extremely 
puzzled.  As  the  matter  was  much  delayed  by  this  vacillation, 
I  put  myself  into  closer  communication  with  the  stage  manager 
of  the  opera,  Ilauser,  who  at  that  time  was  much  appreciated  as 
a  singer  and  patron  of  art  by  the  people  of  Leipzig. 

With  this  man,  too,  I  had  the  strangest  experiences:  he 
who  had  captivated  the  audiences  of  Leipzig,  more  especially 
with  his  impersonation  of  the  barber  and  the  Englishman  in 


HAUSER   AtfD    BIEREY  97 

Fra  Diavolo,  suddenly  revealed  himself  in  his  own  house  as 
the  most  fanatical  adherent  of  the  most  old-fashioned  music. 
I  listened  with  astonishment  to  the  scarcely  veiled  contempt 
with  which  he  treated  even  Mozart,  and  the  only  thing  he 
seemed  to  regret  was  that  we  had  no  operas  by  Sebastian  Bach. 
After  he  had  explained  to  me  that  dramatic  music  had  not 
actually  been  written  yet,  and  that  properly  speaking  Gluck 
alone  had  shown  any  ability  for  it,  he  proceeded  to  what 
seemed  an  exhaustive  examination  of  my  own  opera,  concerning 
which  all  I  had  wished  to  hear  from  him  was  whether  it  was  fit 
to  be  performed.  Instead  of  this,  however,  his  object  seemed 
to  be  to  point  out  the  failure  of  my  purpose  in  every  number. 
I  sweated  blood  under  the  unparalleled  torture  of  going  through 
niy  work  with  this  man;  and  I  told  my  mother  and  sister  of 
my  grave  depression.  All  these  delays  had  already  succeeded 
in  making  it  impossible  to  perform  my  opera  at  the  date 
originally  fixed,  and  now  it  was  postponed  until  August  of  the 
current  year  (1834). 

An  incident  which  I  shall  never  forget  inspired  me  with 
fresh  courage.  Old  Bierey,  an  experienced  and  excellent 
musician,  and  in  his  day  a  successful  composer,  who,  thanks 
more  particularly  to  his  long  practice  as  a  conductor  at  the 
Breslau  theatre,  had  acquired  a  perfectly  practical  knowledge 
of  such  things,  was  then  living  at  Leipzig,  and  was  a  good  friend 
of  my  people.  My  mother  and  sister  begged  him  to  give  his 
opinion  about  the  fitness  of  my  opera  for  the  stage,  and  I  duly 
submitted  the  score  to  him.  I  cannot  say  how  deeply  affected 
and  impressed  I  was  to  see  this  old  gentleman  appear  one  day 
among  my  relatives,  and  to  hear  him  declare  with  genuine 
enthusiasm  that  he  simply  could  not  understand  how  so  young 
a  man  could  have  composed  such  a  score.  His  remarks  con- 
cerning the  greatness  which  he  had  recognised  in  my  talent 
were  really  irresistible,  and  positively  amazed  me.  When  asked 
whether  he  considered  the  work  presentable  and  calculated  ' 
to  produce  an  effect,  he  declared  his  only  regret  was  that  he 
was  no  longer  at  the  head  of  a  theatre,  because,  had  he  been, 
he  would  have  thought  himself  extremely  lucky  to  secure  such 
a  man  as  myself  permanently  for  his  enterprise.  At  this 
announcement  my  family  was  overcome  with  joy,  and  their 


98  MY   LIFE 

feelings  were  all  the  more  justified  seeing  that,  as  they  all 
knew,  Bierey  was  by  no  means  an  amiable  romancer,  but  a 
practical  musician  well  seasoned  by  a  life  full  of  experience. 

The  delay  was  now  borne  with  better  spirits,  and  for  a  long 
time  I  was  able  to  wait  hopefully  for  what  the  future  might 
bring.  Among  other  things,  I  now  began  to  enjoy  the  company 
of  a  new  friend  in  the  person  of  Laube,  who  at  that  time, 
although  I  had  not  set  his  Kosziusko  to  music,  was  at  the  zenith 
of  his  fame.  The  first  portion  of  his  novel,  Young  Europe,  the 
form  of  which  was  epistolary,  had  appeared,  and  had  a  most 
stimulating  effect  on  me,  more  particularly  in  conjunction  with 
all  the  youthful  hopefulness  which  at  that  time  pulsated  in  my 
veins.  Though  his  teaching  was  essentially  only  a  repetition 
of  that  in  Heinse's  Ardinghello,  the  forces  that  then  surged  in 
young  breasts  were  given  full  and  eloquent  expression.  The 
guiding  spirit  of  this  tendency  was  followed  in  literary  criti- 
cism, which  was  aimed  mainly  at  the  supposed  or  actual  in- 
capacity of  the  semi-classical  occupants  of  our  various  literary 
thrones.  Without  the  slightest  mercy  the  pedants,1  among  whom 
Tieck  for  one  was  numbered,  were  treated  as  sheer  encum- 
brances and  hindrances  to  the  rise  of  a  new  literature.  That 
which  led  to  a  remarkable  revulsion  of  my  feelings  with  regard 
to  those  German  composers  who  hitherto  had  been  admired  and 
respected,  was  partly  the  influence  of  these  critical  skirmishes, 
and  the  luring  sprightliness  of  their  tone;  but  mainly  the 
impression  made  by  a  fresh  visit  of  Schroder-Devrient  to 
Leipzig,  when  her  rendering  of  Romeo  in  Bellini's  Romeo 
and  Juliet  carried  every  one  by  storm.  The  effect  of  it  was 
not  to  be  compared  with  anything  that  had  been  witnessed 
theretofore.  To  see  the  daring,  romantic  figure  of  the  youth- 
ful lover  against  a  background  of  such  obviously  shallow  and 
empty  music  prompted  one,  at  all  events,  to  meditate  doubt- 
fully upon  the  cause  of  the  great  lack  of  effect  in  solid  German 
music  as  it  had  been  applied  hitherto  to  the  drama.  Without 
for  the  moment  plunging  too  deeply  into  this  meditation,  I 
allowed  myself  to  be  borne  along  with  the  current  of  my 
youthful  feelings,  then  roused  to  ardour,  and  turned  involun- 
tarily to  the  task  of  working  off  all  that  brooding  seriousness 

1  Zdpfe  in  the  German  text.  —  TRANSLATOR. 


ROMEO    BY    SCHRODER-DEVRIENT  99 

which  iii  my  earlier  years  had  driven  me  to  such  pathetic 
mysticism. 

What  Pohlenz  had  not  done  by  his  conducting  of  the  Ninth 
Symphony,  what  the  Vienna  Conservatoire,  Dionys  Weber,  and 
many  other  clumsy  performances  (which  had  led  me  to  regard 
classical  music  as  absolutely  colourless)  had  not  fully  accom- 
plished, was  achieved  by  the  inconceivable  charm  of  the  most 
unclassical  Italian  music,  thanks  to  the  wonderful,  thrilling, 
and  entrancing  impersonation  of  Romeo  by  Schroder-DevrientJ 
What  effect  such  powerful,  and  as  regards  their  causes,  incom-1 
prehensible,  effects  had  upon  my  opinion  was  shown  in  the) 
frivolous  way  in  which  I  was  able  to  contrive  a  short  criticism 
of  Weber's  Euryanthe  for  the  Elegante  Zeitung.  This  opera 
had  been  performed  by  the  Leipzig  company  shortly  before  the 
appearance  of  Schroder-Devrient :  cold  and  colourless  per- 
formers, among  whom  the  singer  in  the  title-role,  appearing  in 
the  wilderness  with  the  full  sleeves  which  were  then  the  pink 
of  fashion,  is  still  a  disagreeable  memory.  Very  laboriously, 
and  without  verve,  but  simply  with  the  object  of  satisfying  the 
demands  of  classical  rules,  this  company  did  its  utmost  to  dispel 
even  the  enthusiastic  impressions  of  Weber's  music  which  I 
had  formed  in  my  youth.  I  did  not  know  what  answer  to 
make  to  a  brother  critic  of  Laube's,  when  he  pointed  out  to  me 
the  laboured  character  of  this  operatic  performance,  as  soon  as 
he  was  able  to  contrast  it  with  the  entrancing  effect  of  that 
Romeo  evening.  Here  I  found  myself  confronted  with  a 
problem,  the  solving  of  which  I  was  just  at  that  time  disposed 
to  take  as  easily  as  possible,  and  displayed  my  courage  by 
discarding  all  prejudice,  and  that  daringly,  in  the  short  criti- 
cism just  mentioned  in  which  I  simply  scoffed  at  Euryanthe. 
Just  as  I  had  had  my  season  of  wild  oat  sowing  as  a  student,  so 
now  I  boldly  rushed  into  the  same  courses  in  the  development 
of  my  artistic  taste. 

It  was  May,  and  beautiful  spring  weather,  and  a  pleasure 
trip  that  I  now  undertook  with  a  friend  into  the  promised  land 
of  my  youthful  romance,  Bohemia,  was  destined  to  bring  the 
unrestrained  '  Young-European '  mood  in  me  to  full  maturity,  i 
This  friend  was  Theodor  Apel.  I  had  known  him  a  long  while, 
and  had  always  felt  particularly  flattered  by  the  fact  that  I  i 


100  MY   LIFE 

had  won  his  hearty  affection;  for,  as  the  son  of  the  gifted 
master  of  metre  and  imitator  of  Greek  forms  of  poetry,  August 
Apel,  I  felt  that  admiring  deference  for  him  which  I  had  never 
yet  been  able  to  bestow  upon  the  descendant  of  a  famous  man. 
Being  well-to-do  and  of  a  good  family,  his  friendship  gave 
me  such  opportunities  of  coming  into  touch  with  the  easy 
circumstances  of  the  upper  classes  as  were  not  of  frequent 
occurrence  in  my  station  of  life.  While  my  mother,  for  in- 
stance, regarded  my  association  with  this  highly  respectable 
family  with  great  satisfaction,  I  for  my  part  was  extremely 
gratified  at  the  thought  of  the  cordiality  with  which  I  was 
received  in  such  circles. 

Apel's  earnest  wish  was  to  become  a  poet,  and  I  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  all  that  was  needed  for  such  a  calling; 
above  all,  what  seemed  to  me  so  important,  the  complete  free- 
dom that  his  considerable  fortune  assured  him  by  liberating 
him  from  all  need  of  earning  his  living  or  of  adopting  a  pro- 
fession for  a  livelihood.  Strange  to  say,  his  mother,  who  on 
the  death  of  his  distinguished  father  had  married  a  Leipzig 
lawyer,  was  very  anxious  about  the  vocation  he  should  choose, 
and  wished  her  son  to  make  a  fine  career  in  the  law,  as  she  was 
not  at  all  disposed  to  favour  his  poetical  gifts.  And  it  was  to 
her  attempts  to  convert  me  to  her  view,  in  order  that  by  my 
influence  I  might  avert  the  calamity  of  a  second  poet  in  the 
family,  in  the  person  of  the  son,  that  I  owed  the  specially 
friendly  relations  that  obtained  between  herself  and  me.  All 
her  suggestions  succeeded  in  doing,  however,  was  to  stimulate 
me,  even  more  than  my  own  favourable  opinion  of  his  talent 
could,  to  confirm  my  friend  in  his  desire  to  be  a  poet,  and  thus 
to  support  him  in  his  rebellious  attitude  towards  his  family. 

He  was  not  displeased  at  this.  As  he  was  also  studying  music 
and  composed  quite  nicely,  I  succeeded  in  being  on  terms  of 
the  greatest  intimacy  with  him.  The  fact  that  he  had  spent 
the  very  year  in  which  I  had  sunk  into  the  lowest  depths 
of  undergraduate  madness,  studying  at  Heidelberg  and  not  at 
Leipzig,  had  kept  him  unsullied  by  any  share  in  my  strange 
excesses,  and  when  we  now  met  again  at  Leipzig,  in  the  spring 
of  1834,  the  only  thing  that  we  still  had  in  common  was  the 
aesthetic  aspiration  of  our  lives,  which  we  now  strove  by  way 


WITH   APEL    IN    BOHEMIA  101 

of  experiment  to  divert  into  the  direction  of  the  enjoyment 
of  life.  Gladly  would  we  have  flung  ourselves  into  lively  ad- 
ventures if  only  the  conditions  of  our  environment  and  of 
the  whole  middle-class  world  in  which  we  lived  had  in  any  way 
admitted  of  such  things.  Despite  all  the  promptings  of  our  in- 
stincts, however,  we  got  no  further  than  planning  this  excursion 
to  Bohemia.  At  all  events,  it  was  something  that  we  made  the 
journey  not  by  the  post,  but  in  our  own  carriage,  and  our 
genuine  pleasure  continued  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  at  Teplitz, 
for  instance,  we  daily  took  long  drives  in  a  fine  carriage.  When 
in  the  evening  we  had  supped  off  trout  at  the  Wilhelmsburg, 
drunk  good  Czernosek  wine  with  Bilin  water,  and  duly  excited 
ourselves  over  Hoffmann,  Beethoven,  Shakespeare,  Heinse's 
Ardinghello,  and  other  matters,  and  then,  with  our  limbs  com- 
fortably outstretched  in  our  elegant  carriage,  drove  back  in 
the  summer  twilight  to  the  '  King  of  Prussia,'  where  we  oc- 
cupied the  large  balcony-room  on  the  first  floor,  we  felt  that 
we  had  spent  the  day  like  young  gods,  and  for  sheer  exuberance 
could  think  of  nothing  better  to  do  than  to  indulge  in  the  most 
frightful  quarrels  which,  especially  when  the  windows  were 
open,  would  collect  numbers  of  alarmed  listeners  in  the  square 
before  the  inn. 

One  fine  morning  I  stole  away  from  my  friend  in  order  to 
take  my  breakfast  alone  at  the  '  Schlackenburg,'  and  also  to 
seize  an  opportunity  of  jotting  down  the  plan  of  a  new  operatic 
composition  in  my  note-book.  With  this  end  in  view,  I  had 
mastered  the  subject  of  Shakespeare's  Measure  for  Measure,'* 
which,  in  accordance  with  my  present  mood,  I  soon  trans- 
formed pretty  freely  into  a  libretto  entitled  Liebesverbot.  Young 
Europe  and  Ardinghello,  and  the  strange  frame  of  mind  into 
which  I  had  fallen  with  regard  to  classical  operatic  music, 
furnished  me  with  the  keynote  of  my  conception,  which  was 
directed  more  particularly  against  puritanical  hypocrisy,  and 
which  thus  tended  boldly  to  exalt  '  unrestrained  sensuality.' 
I  took  care  to  understand  the  grave  Shakespearean  theme  only 
in  this  sense.  I  could  see  only  the  gloomy  strait-laced  viceroy, 
his  heart  aflame  with  the  most  passionate  love  for  the  beautiful 
novice,  who,  while  she  beseeches  him  to  pardon  her  brother 
condemned  to  death  for  illicit  love,  at  the  same  time  kindles 


102  MY   LIFE 

the  most  dangerous  fire  in  the  stubborn  Puritan's  breast  by 
infecting  him  with  the  lovely  warmth  of  her  human  emotion. 

The  fact  that  these  powerful  features  are  so  richly  developed 
in  Shakespeare's  creation  only  in  order  that,  in  the  end,  they 
may  be  weighed  all  the  more  gravely  in  the  scales  of  justice, 
was  no  concern  of  mine:  all  I  cared  about  was  to  expose  the 
sinfulness  of  hypocrisy  and  the  unnaturalness  of  such  cruel 
moral  censure.  Thus  I  completely  dropped  Measure  for 
Measure,  and  made  the  hypocrite  be  brought  to  justice  only 
by  the  avenging  power  of  love.  I  transferred  the  theme  from 
the  fabulous  city  of  Vienna  to  the  capital  of  sunny  Sicily,  in 
which  a  German  viceroy,  indignant  at  the  inconceivably  loose 
morals  of  the  people,  attempts  to  introduce  a  puritanical  reform, 
and  comes  miserably  to  grief  over  it.  Die  Stumme  von  Portici 
probably  contributed  to  some  extent  to  this  theme,  as  did  also 
certain  memories  of  Die  Sizilianische  Vesper.  When  I  remem- 
ber that  at  last  even  the  gentle  Sicilian  Bellini  constituted  a 
factor  in  this  composition,  I  cannot,  to  be  sure,  help  smiling 
at  the  strange  medley  in  which  the  most  extraordinary  mis- 
understandings here  took  shape. 

This  remained  for  the  present  a  mere  draft.  Studies  from 
life  destined  for  my  work  were  first  to  be  carried  out  on  this 
delightful  excursion  to  Bohemia.  I  led  my  friend  in  triumph 
to  Prague,  in  the  hope  of  securing  the  same  impressions  for 
him  which  had  stirred  me  so  profoundly  when  I  was  there. 
We  met  my  fair  friends  in  the  city  itself;  for,  owing  to  the 
death  of  old  Count  Pachta,  material  changes  had  taken  place 
in  the  family,  and  the  surviving  daughters  no  longer  went  to 
Pravonin.  My  behaviour  was  full  of  arrogance,  and  by  means 
of  it  I  doubtless  wished  to  vent  a  certain  capricious  lust  of 
revenge  for  the  feelings  of  bitterness  with  which  I  had  taken 
leave  of  this  circle  some  years  previously.  My  friend  was  well 
received.  The  changed  family  circumstances  forced  the  charm- 
ing girls  ever  more  and  more  imperatively  to  come  to  some  de- 
cision as  to  their  future,  and  a  wealthy  bourgeois,  though  not 
exactly  in  trade  himself,  but  in  possession  of  ample  means, 
seemed  to  the  anxious  mother,  at  all  events,  a  good  adviser. 
Without  either  showing  or  feeling  any  malice  in  the  matter,  I 
expressed  my  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  strange  confusion 


COUNT  PACHTA'S  DAUGHTEES     103 

caused  by  Theodor's  introduction  into  the  family  by  the  mer- 
riest and  wildest  jests:  for  my  only  intercourse  with  the  ladies 
consisted  purely  of  jokes  and  friendly  chaff.  They  could  not 
understand  how  it  was  that  I  had  altered  so  strangely.  There 
was  no  longer  any  of  that  love  of  wrangling,  that  rage  for 
instructing,  and  that  zeal  in  converting  in  me  which  formerly 
they  had  found  so  irritating.  But  at  the  same  time  not  a 
sensible  word  could  I  be  made  to  utter,  and  they  who  were  now 
wanting  to  talk  over  many  things  seriously  could  get  nothing 
out  of  me  save  the  wildest  tomfoolery.  As  on  this  occasion, 
in  my  character  of  an  uncaged  bird,  I  boldly  allowed  myself 
many  a  liberty  against  which  they  felt  themselves  powerless, 
my  exuberant  spirits  were  excited  all  the  more  when  my  friend, 
who  was  led  away  by  my  example,  tried  to  imitate  me  —  a 
thing  they  took  in  very  bad  part  from  him. 

Only  once  was  there  any  attempt  at  seriousness  between  us: 
I  was  sitting  at  the  piano,  and  was  listening  to  my  companion, 
who  was  telling  the  ladies  that  in  a  conversation  at  the  hotel  I 
had  found  occasion  to  express  myself  most  warmly  to  some 
one  who  appeared  to  be  surprised  on  hearing  of  the  domestic 
and  industrious  qualities  of  my  lady  friends.  I  was  deeply 
moved  when,  as  the  outcome  of  my  companion's  remarks,  I 
gathered  what  unpleasant  experiences  the  poor  things  had 
already  been  through:  for  what  seemed  to  me  a  very  natural 
action  on  my  part,  appeared  to  fill  them  with  unexpected 
pleasure.  Jenny,  for  instance,  came  up  to  me  and  hugged  me 
with  great  warmth.  By  general  consent  I  was  now  granted 
the  right  of  behaving  with  almost  studied  rudeness,  and  I 
replied  even  to  Jenny's  warm  outburst  only  with  my  usual 
banter. 

In  our  hotel,  the  '  Black  Horse,'  which  was  so  famous  in 
those  days,  I  found  the  playground  in  which  I  was  able  to 
carry  the  mischievous  spirit  not  exhausted  at  the  Pachta's  house 
to  the  point  of  recklessness.  Out  of  the  most  accidental  ma- 
terial in  table  and  travelling  guests  we  succeeded  in  gather- 
ing a  company  around  us  which  allowed  us,  until  far  into  the 
night,  to  lead  it  into  the  most  inconceivable  follies.  To  all 
this  I  was  incited  more  particularly  by  the  personality  of  a 
very  timid  and  undersized  business  man  from  Frankfort  on 


104  MY   LIFE 

the  Oder,  who  longed  to  seem  of  a  daring  disposition;  and 
his  presence  stimulated  me,  if  only  owing  to  the  remarkable 
chance  it  gave  me  of  coming  into  contact  with  some  one  who 
was  at  home  in  Frankfort  '  on  the  Oder.'  Any  one  who  knows 
how  things  then  stood  in  Austria  can  form  some  idea  of  my 
recklessness  when  I  say  that  I  once  went  so  far  as  to  cause  our 
symposium  in  the  public  room  to  bellow  the  Marseillaise  out 
loud  into  the  night.  Therefore,  when  after  this  heroic  ex- 
ploit was  over,  and  while  I  was  undressing,  I  clambered  on 
the  outer  ledges  of  the  windows  from  one  room  to  the  other  on 
the  second  floor,  I  naturally  horrified  those  who  did  not  know 
of  the  love  of  acrobatic  feats  which  I  had  cultivated  in  my 
earliest  boyhood. 

Even  if  I  had  exposed  myself  without  fear  to  such  dangers, 
I  was  soon  sobered  down  next  morning  by  a  summons  from  the 
police.  When,  in  addition  to  this,  I  recalled  the  singing  of 
the  Marseillaise,  I  was  filled  with  the  gravest  fears.  After 
having  been  detained  at  the  station  a  long  time,  owing  to  a 
strange  misunderstanding,  the  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  in- 
spector who  was  told  off  to  examine  me  found  that  there  was 
not  sufficient  time  left  for  a  serious  hearing,  and,  to  my  great 
relief,  I  was  allowed  to  go  after  replying  to  a  few  harmless 
questions  concerning  the  intended  length  of  my  stay.  Never- 
theless, we  thought  it  advisable  not  to  yield  to  the  temptation 
of  playing  any  more  pranks  beneath  the  spread  wings  of  the 
double  eagle. 

By  means  of  a  circuitous  route  into  which  we  were  led  by 
our  insatiable  longing  for  adventures  —  adventures  which,  as 
a  matter  of  fact,  occurred  only  in  our  imagination,  and  which 
to  all  intents  and  purposes  were  but  modest  diversions  on  the 
road  —  we  at  length  got  back  to  Leipzig.  And  with  this  return 
home  the  really  cheerful  period  of  my  life  as  a  youth  definitely 
closed.  If,  up  to  that  time,  I  had  not  been  free  from  serious 
errors  and  moments  of  passion,  it  was  only  now  that  care  cast 
its  first  shadow  across  my  path. 

My  family  had  anxiously  awaited  my  return  in  order  to 
inform  me  that  the  post  of  conductor  had  been  offered  to  me 
by  the  Magdeburg  Theatre  Company.  This  company  during 
the  current  summer  month  was  performing  at  a  ^watering 


CONDUCTOR  AT  LAUCHSTADT      105 

place  called  Lauchstadt.  The  manager  could  not  get  on  with 
an  incompetent  conductor  that  had  been  sent  to  him,  and  in 
his  extremity  had  applied  to  Leipzig  in  the  hope  of  getting  a 
substitute  forthwith.  Stegmayer,  the  conductor,  who  had  no 
inclination  to  practise  my  score  Feen  during  the  hot  summer 
weather,  as  he  had  promised  to  do,  promptly  recommended 
me  for  the  post,  and  in  that  way  really  managed  to  shake  off 
a  very  troublesome  tormentor.  For  although,  on  the  one  hand, 
I  really  desired  to  be  able  to  abandon  myself  freely  and  without 
restraint  to  the  torrent  of  adventures  that  constitute  the  artist's 
life,  yet  a  longing  for  independence,  which  could  be  won  only 
by  my  earning  my  own  living,  had  been  greatly  strengthened 
in  me  by  the  state  of  my  affairs.  Albeit,  I  had  the  feeling 
that  a  solid  basis  for  the  gratification  of  this  desire  was  not 
to  be  laid  in  Lauchstadt;  nor  did  I  find  it  easy  to  assist  the 
plot  concocted  against  the  production  of  my  Feen.  I  therefore 
determined  to  make  a  preliminary  visit  to  the  place  just  to 
see  how  things  stood. 

This  little  watering-place  had,  in  the  days  of  Goethe  and 
Schiller,  acquired  a  very  wide  reputation.  Its  wooden  theatre 
had  been  built  according  to  the  design  of  the  former,  and  the 
first  performance  of  the  Braut  von  Messina  had  been  given 
there.  But  although  I  repeated  all  this  to  myself,  the  place 
made  me  feel  rather  doubtful.  I  asked  for  the  house  of  the 
director  of  the  theatre.  lie  proved  to  be  out,  but  a  small  dirty 
boy,  his  son,  was  told  to  take  me  to  the  theatre  to  find  l  Papa.' 
Papa,  however,  met  us  on  the  way.  He  was  an  elderly  man; 
he  wore  a  dressing-gown,  and  on  his  head  a  cap.  His  delight 
at  greeting  me  was  interrupted  by  complaints  about  a  serious 
indisposition,  for  which  his  son  was  to  fetch  him  a  cordial  from 
a  shop  close  by.  Before  despatching  the  boy  on  this  errand 
pressed  a  real  silver  penny  into  his  hand  with  a  certain 
ostentation  which  was  obviously  for  my  benefit.  This  person 
was  Heinrich  Bethmann,  surviving  husband  of  the  famous 
stress  of  that  name,  who,  having  lived  in  the  heyday  of  the 
German  stage,  had  won  the  favour  of  the  King  of  Prussia; 
and  won  it  so  lastingly,  that  long  after  her  death  it  had  con- 
tinued to  be  extended  to  her  spouse.  He  always  drew  a  nice 
pension  from  the  Prussian  court,  and  permanently  enjoyed 


106  MY   LIFE 

its  support  without  ever  being  able  to  forfeit  its  protection 
by  his  irregular  and  dissipated  ways. 

At  the  time  of  which  I  am  speaking  he  had  sunk  to  his 
lowest,  owing  to  continued  theatre  management.  His  speech 
and  manners  revealed  the  sugary  refinement  of  a  bygone  day, 
while  all  that  he  did  and  everything  about  him  testified  to  the 
most  shameful  neglect.  He  took  me  back  to  his  house,  where 
he  presented  me  to  his  second  wife,  who,  crippled  in  one  foot, 
lay  on  an  extraordinary  couch  while  an  elderly  bass,  concern- 
ing whose  excessive  devotion  Bethmann  had  already  complained 
to  me  quite  openly,  smoked  his  pipe  beside  her.  From  there 
the  director  took  me  to  his  stage  manager,  who  lived  in  the 
same  house. 

With  the  latter,  who  was  just  engaged  in  a  consultation 
about  the  repertory  with  the  theatre  attendant,  a  toothless  old 
skeleton,  he  left  me  to  settle  the  necessary  arrangements.  As 
soon  as  Bethmann  had  gone,  Schmale,  the  stage  manager, 
shrugged  his  shoulders  and  smiled,  assuring  me  that  that  was 
just  the  way  of  the  director,  to  put  everything  on  his  back 
and  trouble  himself  about  nothing.  There  he  had  been  sitting 
for  over  an  hour,  discussing  with  Kroge  what  should  be  put  on 
next  Sunday:  it  was  all  very  well  his  starting  Don  Juan,  but 
how  could  he  get  a  rehearsal  carried  out,  when  the  Merseburg 
town  bandsmen,  who  formed  the  orchestra,  would  not  come 
over  on  Saturday  to  rehearse  ? 

All  the  time  Schmale  kept  reaching  out  through  the  open 
window  to  a  cherry  tree  from  which  he  picked  and  persistently 
ate  the  fruit,  ejecting  the  stones  with  a  disagreeable  noise. 
Now  it  was  this  last  circumstance  in  particular  which  decided 
me;  for,  strange  to  say,  I  have  an  innate  aversion  from  fruit. 
I  informed  the  stage  manager  that  he  need  not  trouble  at  all 
about  Don  Juan  for  Sunday,  since  for  my  part,  if  they  had 
reckoned  on  my  making  my  first  appearance  at  this  perform- 
ance, I  must  anyhow  disappoint  the  director,  as  I  had  no 
choice  but  to  return  at  once  to  Leipzig,  where  I  had  to  put  my 
affairs  in  order.  This  polite  manner  of  tendering  my  absolute 
refusal  to  accept  the  appointment  —  a  conclusion  I  had  quickly 
arrived  at  in  my  own  mind  —  forced  me  to  practise  some  dis- 
simulation, and  made  it  necessary  for  me  to  appear  as  if  I 


MINNA  107 

really  had  some  other  purpose  in  coming  to  Lauchstadt.  This 
pretence  in  itself  was  quite  unnecessary,  seeing  that  I  was  quite 
determined  never  to  return  there  again. 

People  offered  to  help  me  in  finding  a  lodging,  and  a  young 
actor  whom  I  had  chanced  to  know  at  Wiirzburg  undertook 
to  be  my  guide  in  the  matter.  While  he  was  taking  me  to  the  ' 
best  lodging  he  knew,  he  told  me  that  presently  he  would  do 
me  the  kindness  of  making  me  the  housemate  of  the  prettiest 
and  nicest  girl  to  be  found  in  the  place  at  the  time.  She  was 
the  junior  lead  of  the  company,  Mademoiselle  Minna  Planer, 
of  whom  doubtless  I  had  already  heard. 

As  luck  would  have  it,  the  promised  damsel  met  us  at  the 
door  of  the  house  in  question.  Her  appearance  and  bearing 
formed  the  most  striking  contrast  possible  to  all  the  unpleasant 
impressions  of  the  theatre  which  it  had  been  my  lot  to  receive 
on  this  fateful  morning.  Looking  very  charming  and  fresh, 
the  young  actress's  general  manner  and  movements  were  full 
of  a  certain  majesty  and  grave  assurance  which  lent  an  agree- 
able and  captivating  air  of  dignity  to  her  otherwise  pleasant 
expression.  Her  scrupulously  clean  and  tidy  dress  completed 
the  startling  effect  of  the  unexpected  encounter.  After  I  had 
been  introduced  to  her  in  the  hall  as  the  new  conductor,  and 
after  she  had  done  regarding  with  astonishment  the  stranger 
who  seemed  so  young  for  such  a  title,  she  recommended  me 
kindly  to  the  landlady  of  the  house,  and  begged  that  I  might 
be  well  looked  after;  whereupon  she  walked  proudly  and  se- 
renely across  the  street  to  her  rehearsal. 

I  engaged  a  room  on  the  spot,  agreed  to  Don  Juan  for  Sunday, 
regretted  greatly  that  I  had  not  brought  my  luggage  with  me 
from  Leipzig,  and  hastened  to  return  thither  as  quickly  as 
possible  in  order  to  get  back  to  Lauchstadt  all  the  sooner.  The 
die  was  cast.  The  serious  side  of  life  at  once  confronted  me 
in  the  form  of  significant  experiences.  At  Leipzig  I  had  to 
take  a  furtive  leave  of  Laube.  At  the  instance  of  Prussia  he 
had  been  warned  off  Saxon  soil,  and  he  half  guessed  at  the 
meaning  which  was  to  be  attached  to  this  move.  The  time  of 
undisguised  reaction  against  the  Liberal  movement  of  the  early 
'thirties  had  set  in:  the  fact  that  Laube  was  concerned  in  no 
sort  of  political  work,  but  had  devoted  himself  merely  to 


108  MY   LIFE 

literary  activity,  always  aiming  simply  at  aesthetic  objects, 
made  the  action  of  the  police  quite  incomprehensible  to  us 
for  the  time  being.  The  disgusting  ambiguity  with  which  the 
Leipzig  authorities  answered  all  his  questions  as  to  the  cause 
of  his  expulsion  soon  gave  him  the  strongest  suspicions  as  to 
what  their  intentions  towards  him  actually  were. 

Leipzig,  as  the  scene  of  his  literary  labours,  being  inestim- 
ably precious,  it  mattered  greatly  to  him  to  keep  within  reach 
of  it.  My  friend  Apel  owned  a  fine  estate  on  Prussian  soil, 
within  but  a  few  hours'  distance  of  Leipzig,  and  we  conceived 
the  wish  of  seeing  Laube  hospitably  harboured  there.  My 
friend,  who  without  infringing  the  legal  stipulations  was  in  a 
position  to  give  the  persecuted  man  a  place  of  refuge,  immedi- 
ately assented,  and  with  great  readiness,  to  our  desire,  but 
confessed  to  us  next  day,  after  having  communicated  with  his 
family,  that  he  thought  he  might  incur  some  unpleasantnesses 
if  he  entertained  Laube.  At  this  the  latter  smiled,  and  in  a 
manner  I  shall  never  forget,  though  I  have  noticed  in  the 
course  of  my  life  that  the  expression  which  I  then  saw  in  his 
face  was  one  which  has  often  flitted  over  my  own  features. 
He  took  his  leave,  and  in  a  short  time  we  heard  that  he  had 
been  arrested,  owing  to  having  undertaken  fresh  proceedings 
against  former  members  of  the  Burschenschaft  (Students' 
League),  and  had  been  lodged  in  the  municipal  prison  at 
Berlin.  I  had  thus  had  two  experiences  which  weighed  me 
down  like  lead,  so  I  packed  my  scanty  portmanteau,  took  leave 
of  my  mother  and  sister,  and,  with  a  stout  heart,  started  on 
my  career  as  a  conductor. 

In  order  to  be  able  to  look  upon  the  little  room  under  Minna's 
lodging  as  my  new  home,  I  was  forced  also  to  make  the  best 
f  of  Bethmann's  theatrical  enterprise.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  a 
performance  of  Don  Juan  was  given  at  once,  for  the  director, 
who  prided  himself  on  being  a  connoisseur  of  things  artistic, 
suggested  that  opera  to  me  as  one  with  which  it  would  be  wise 
for  an  aspiring  young  artist,  of  a  good  family,  to  make  his 
debut  Despite  the  fact  that,  apart  from  some  of  my  own 
instrumental  compositions,  I  had  never  yet  conducted,  and 
least  of  all  in  opera,  the  rehearsal  and  the  performance  went 
off  fairly  well.  Only  once  or  twice  did  discrepancies  appear 


MINNA  109 

in  the  recitative  of  Donna  Anna;  yet  this  did  not  involve  me 
in  any  kind  of  hostility,  and  when  I  took  my  place  unabashed 
and  calm  for  the  production  of  Lumpaci  Vagabundus,  which 
I  had  practised  very  thoroughly,  the  people  generally  seemed 
to  have  gained  full  confidence  in  the  theatre's  new  acquisition. 

The  fact  that  I  submitted  without  bitterness  and  even  with 
some  cheerfulness  to  this  unworthy  use  of  my  musical  talent, 
was  due  less  to  my  taste  being  at  this  period,  as  I  called  it, 
in  its  salad  days,  than  to  my  intercourse  with  Minna  Planer, 
who  was  employed  in  that  magic  trifle  as  the  Amorous  Fairy. 
Indeed,  in  the  midst  of  this  dust-cloud  of  frivolity  and  vul- 
garity, she  always  seemed  very  much  like  a  fairy,  the  reasons  of 
whose  descent  into  this  giddy  whirl,  which  of  a  truth  seemed 
neither  to  carry  her  away  nor  even  to  affect  her,  remained  an 
absolute  mystery.  For  while  I  could  discover  nothing  in  the 
opera  singers  save  the  familiar  stage  caricatures  and  grimaces, 
this  fair  actress  differed  wholly  from  those  about  her  in  her 
unaffected  soberness  and  dainty  modesty,  as  also  in  the  absence 
of  all  theatrical  pretence  and  stiltedness.  There  was  only  one 
young  man  whom  I  could  place  beside  Minna  on  the  ground 
of  qualities  like  those  I  recognised  in  her.  This  fellow  was 
Friedrich  Schmitt,  who  had  only  just  adopted  the  stage  as  a 
career  in  the  hope  of  making  a  l  hit '  in  opera,  to  which,  as  the 
possessor  of  an  excellent  tenor  voice,  he  felt  himself  called. 
He  too  differed  from  the  rest  of  the  company,  especially  in 
the  earnestness  which  he  brought  to  bear  upon  his  studies 
and  his  work  in  general :  the  soulful  manly  pitch  of  his  chest 
voice,  his  clear,  noble  enunciation  and  intelligent  rendering  of 
his  words,  have  always  remained  as  standards  in  my  memory. 
Owing  to  the  fact  that  he  was  wholly  devoid  of  theatrical 
talent,  and  acted  clumsily  and  awkwardly,  a  check  was  soon 
put  to  his  progress,  but  he  always  remained  dear  to  me  as  a 
clever  and  original  man  of  trustworthy  and  upright  character 
—  my  only  associate. 

But  my  dealings  with  my  kind  housemate  soon  became  a 
cherished  habit,  while  she  returned  the  ingenuously  impetuous 
advances  of  the  conductor  of  one-and-twenty  with  a  certain 
tolerant  astonishment  which,  remote  as  it  was  from  all 
coquetry  and  ulterior  motives,  soon  made  familiar  and  friendly 


110  MY   LIFE 

intercourse  possible  with  her.  When,  one  evening,  I  returned 
late  to  my  ground-floor  room,  by  climbing  through  the  window, 
for  I  had  no  latch-key,  the  noise  of  my  entry  brought  Minna 
to  her  window  just  over  mine.  Standing  on  my  window  ledge 
I  begged  her  to  allow  me  to  bid  her  good-night  once  more. 
She  had  not  the  slightest  objection  to  this,  but  declared  it 
must  be  done  from  the  window,  as  she  always  had  her  door 
locked  by  the  people  of  the  house,  and  nobody  could  get  in 
that  way.  She  kindly  facilitated  the  handshake  by  leaning 
far  out  of  her  window,  so  that  I  could  take  her  hand  as  I  stood 
on  my  ledge.  When  later  on  I  had  an  attack  of  erysipelas, 
from  which  I  often  suffered,  and  with  my  face  all  swollen  and 
frightfully  distorted  concealed  myself  from  the  world  in  my 
gloomy  room,  Minna  visited  me  repeatedly,  nursed  me,  and 
assured  me  that  my  distorted  features  did  not  matter  in  the 
least  On  recovering,  I  paid  her  a  visit  and  complained  of  a 
rash  that  had  remained  round  my  mouth,  and  which  seemed 
so  unpleasant  that  I  apologised  for  showing  it  to  her.  This 
also  she  made  light  of.  Then  I  inferred  she  would  not  give  me 
a  kiss,  whereupon  she  at  once  gave  me  practical  proof  that 
she  did  not  shrink  from  that  either. 

This  was  all  done  with  a  friendly  serenity  and  composure 
that  had  something  almost  motherly  about  it,  and  it  was  free 
from  all  suggestion  of  frivolity  or  of  heartlessness.  In  a  few 
weeks  the  company  had  to  leave  Lauchstadt  to  proceed  to 
Rudolstadt  and  fulfil  a  special  engagement  there.  I  was  par- 
ticularly anxious  to  make  this  journey,  which  in  those  days 
was  an  arduous  undertaking,  in  Minna's  company,  and  if  only 
I  had  succeeded  in  getting  my  well-earned  salary  duly  paid  by 
Bethmann,  nothing  would  have  hindered  the  fulfilment  of  my 
wish.  But  in  this  matter  I  encountered  exceptional  difficulties, 
which  in  the  course  of  eventful  years  grew  in  chronic  fashion 
into  the  strangest  of  ailments.  Even  at  Lauchstadt  I  had 
discovered  that  there  was  only  one  man  who  drew  his  salary 
in  full,  namely  the  bass  Kneisel,  whom  I  had  seen  smoking  his 
pipe  beside  the  couch  of  the  director's  lame  wife.  I  was 
assured  that  if  I  cared  greatly  about  getting  some  of  my  wages 
from  time  to  time,  I  could  obtain  this  favour  only  by  paying 
court  to  Mme.  Bethmann.  This  time  I  preferred  once  more 


SYMPHONY   IN   E   MAJOR  111 

to  appeal  to  my  family  for  help,  and  therefore  travelled  to 
Rudolstadt  through  Leipzig,  where,  to  the  sad  astonishment 
of  my  mother,  I  had  to  replenish  my  coffer  with  the  necessary 
supplies.  On  the  way  to  Leipzig  I  had  travelled  with  Apel 
through  his  estate,  he  having  fetched  me  from  Lauchstadt  for 
the  purpose.  His  arrival  was  fixed  in  my  memory  by  a  noisy 
banquet  which  my  wealthy  friend  gave  at  the  hotel  in  my 
honour.  It  was  on  this  occasion  that  I  and  one  of  the  other 
guests  succeeded  in  completely  destroying  a  huge,  massively 
built  Dutch-tile  stove,  such  as  we  had  in  our  room  at  the  inn. 
Next  morning  none  of  us  could  understand  how  it  had  happened. 
It  was  on  this  journey  to  Rudolstadt  that  I  first  passed 
through  Weimar,  where  on  a  rainy  day  I  strolled  with  curiosity, 
but  without  emotion,  towards  Goethe's  house.  I  had  pictured 
something  rather  different,  and  thought  I  should  experience 
livelier  impressions  from  the  active  theatre  life  of  Rudolstadt, 
to  which  I  felt  strongly  attracted.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I 
was  not  to  be  conductor  myself,  this  post  having  been  entrusted 
to  the  leader  of  the  royal  orchestra,  who  had  been  specially 
engaged  for  our  performances,  yet  I  was  so  fully  occupied  with 
rehearsals  for  the  many  operas  and  musical  comedies  required 
to  regale  the  frivolous  public  of  the  principality  that  I  found 
no  leisure  for  excursions  into  the  charming  regions  of  this  little 
land.  In  addition  to  these  severe  and  ill-paid  labours,  two 
passions  held  me  chained  during  the  six  weeks  of  my  stay  in 
Rudolstadt.  These  were,  first,  a  longing  to  write  the  libretto 
of  Liebesverbot ;  and  secondly,  my  growing  attachment  to 
Minna.  It  is  true,  I  sketched  out  a  musical  composition  about 
this  time,  a  symphony  in  E  major,  whose  first  movement; 
(  Y^  time)  I  completed  as  a  separate  piece.  As  regards  style 
and  design,  this  work  was  suggested  by  Beethoven's  Seventh 
and  Eighth  Symphonies,  and,  so  far  as  I  can  remember, 
I  should  have  had  no  need  to  be  ashamed  of  it,  had  I  been 
able  to  complete  it,  or  keep  the  part  I  had  actually  finished.. 
But  I  had  already  begun  at  this  time  to  form  the  opinion 
that,  to  produce  anything  fresh  and  truly  noteworthy  in 
the  realm  of  symphony,  and  according  to  Beethoven's  methods, 
was  an  impossibility.  Whereas  opera,  to  which  I  felt  in- 
wardly drawn,  though  I  had  no  real  example  I  wished  to 


112  MY   LIFE 

<F\  copy,  presented  itself  to  my  mind  in  varied  and  alluring  shapes 
:  as  a  most  fascinating  form  of  art.     Thus,  amid  manifold  and 
1  passionate  agitations,  and  in  the  few  leisure  hours  which  were 
'  left  to  me,  I  completed  the  greater  part  of  my  operatic  poem, 
taking  infinitely  more  pains,  both  as  regards  words  and  versifi- 
cation, than  with  the  text  of  my  earlier  Feen.     Moreover,  I 
found  myself  possessed  of  incomparably  greater  assurance  in 
the  arrangement  and  partial  invention  of  situations  than  when 
writing  that  earlier  work. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  now  began  for  the  first  time  to  experience 
the  cares  and  worries  of  a  lover's  jealousy.  A  change,  to  me 
inexplicable,  manifested  itself  in  Minna's  hitherto  unaffected 
and  gentle  manner  towards  me.  It  appears  that  my  artless 
solicitations  for  her  favour,  by  which  at  that  time  I  meant 
nothing  serious,  and  in  which  a  man  of  the  world  would  merely 
have  seen  the  exuberance  of  a  youthful  and  easily  satisfied 
infatuation,  had  given  rise  to  certain  remarks  and  comments 
upon  the  popular  actress.  I  was  astonished  to  learn,  first  from 
her  reserved  manner,  and  later  from  her  own  lips,  that  she  felt 
compelled  to  inquire  into  the  seriousness  of  my  intentions,  and 
to  consider  their  consequences.  She  was  at  that  time,  as  I 
had  already  discovered,  on  very  intimate  terms  with  a  young 
nobleman,  whose  acquaintance  I  first  made  in  Lauchstadt, 
where  he  used  to  visit  her.  I  had  already  realised  on  that 
occasion  that  he  was  unfeignedly  and  cordially  attached  to  her ; 
in  fact,  in  the  circle  of  her  friends  she  was  regarded  as  engaged 
to  Herr  von  O.,  although  it  was  obvious  that  marriage  was  out 
of  the  question,  as  the  young  lover  was  quite  without  means, 
and  owing  to  the  high  standing  of  his  family  it  was  essential 
that  he  should  sacrifice  himself  to  a  marriage  of  convenience, 
both  on  account  of  his  social  position  and  of  the  career  which 
he  would  have  to  adopt.  During  this  stay  at  Rudolstadt 
Minna  appears  to  have  gathered  certain  information  on  this 
point  which  troubled  and  depressed  her,  thus  rendering  her 
more  inclined  to  treat  my  impetuous  attempts  at  courtship 
with  cool  reserve. 

After  mature  deliberation  I  recognised  that,  in  any  case, 
Young  Europe,  ArdinglieUo ,  and  Liebesverbot  could  not  be  pro- 
duced at  Rudolstadt;  but  it  was  a  very  different  matter  for 


SITTING   IN   COMMAND  113 

the  Fee  Amorosa,  with  its  merry  theatrical  mood,  and  an 
Ehrlicher  Burger  Kind  to  seek  a  decent  livelihood.  Therefore, 
greatly  discouraged,  I  proceeded  to  accentuate  the  more  ex- 
travagant situations  of  my  Liebesverbot  by  rioting  with  a  few 
comrades  in  the  sausage-scented  atmosphere  of  the  Rudolstadt 
Vogelwiese.  At  this  time  my  troubles  again  brought  me  more 
or  less  into  contact  with  the  vice  of  gambling,  although  on  this 
occasion  it  only  cast  temporary  fetters  about  me  in  the  very 
harmless  form  of  the  dice  and  roulette-tables  out  on  the  open 
market-place. 

We  were  looking  forward  to  the  time  when  we  should  leave 
Rudolstadt  for  the  half-yearly  winter  season  at  the  capital, 
Magdeburg,  mainly  because  I  should  there  resume  my  place 
at  the  head  of  the  orchestra,  and  might  in  any  case  count  on 
a  better  reward  for  my  musical  efforts.  But  before  returning 
to  Magdeburg  I  had  to  endure  a  trying  interval  at  Bernburg, 
where  Bethmann,  the  director,  in  addition  to  his  other  under- 
takings, had  also  promised  sundry  theatrical  performances. 
During  our  brief  stay  in  the  town  I  had  to  arrange  for  the 
presentation,  with  a  mere  fraction  of  the  company,  of  several 
operas,  which  were  again  to  be  conducted  by  the  royal  con- 
ductor of  the  place.  But  in  addition  to  these  professional 
labours,  I  had  to  endure  such  a  meagre,  ill-provided  and  grie- 
vously farcical  existence  as  was  enough  to  disgust  me,  if  not 
for  ever,  at  any  rate  for  the  time  being,  with  the  wretched 
profession  of  a  theatrical  conductor.  Yet  I  survived  even  this, 
and  Magdeburg  was  destined  to  lead  me  eventually  to  the  real, 
glory  of  my  adopted  profession. 

The  sensation  of  sitting  in  command  at  the  very  conductor's 
desk  from  which,  not  many  years  before,  the  great  master  Kiihn- 
lein  had  so  moved  the  perplexed  young  enthusiast  by  the  weighty 
wisdom  of  his  musical  directorship,  was  not  without  its  charm 
for  me,  and,  indeed,  I  very  quickly  succeeded  in  obtaining  per- 
fect confidence  in  conducting  an  orchestra.  I  was  soon  a  per- 
sona grata  with  the  excellent  musicians  of  the  orchestra.  Their 
splendid  combination  in  spirited  overtures,  which,  especially 
towards  the  finale,  I  generally  took  at  an  unheard-of  speed,  often 
earned  for  us  all  the  intoxicating  applause  of  the  public.  The! 
achievements  of  my  fiery  and  often  exuberant  zeal  won  me  1 


114  MY   LIFE 

recognition  from  the  singers,  and  were  greeted  by  the  audience 
with  rapturous  appreciation.  As  in  Magdeburg,  at  least  in 
those  days,  the  art  of  theatrical  criticism  was  but  slightly  de- 
veloped, this  universal  satisfaction  was  a  great  encouragement, 
and  at  the  end  of  the  first  three  months  of  my  Magdeburg 
conductorship  I  felt  sustained  by  the  flattering  and  comfort- 
ing assurance  that  I  was  one  of  the  bigwigs  of  opera.  Under 
these  circumstances,  Schmale,  the  stage  manager,  who  has 
been  my  good  friend  ever  since,  proposed  a  special  gala  per- 
formance for  New  Year's  Day,  which  he  felt  sure  would  be 
a  triumph.  I  was  to  compose  the  necessary  music.  This  was 
very  speedily  done;  a  rousing  overture,  several  melodramas 
and  choruses  were  all  greeted  with  enthusiasm,  and  brought 
us  such  ample  applause  that  we  repeated  the  performance  with 
great  success,  although  such  repetitions  after  the  actual  gala 
day  were  quite  contrary  to  usage. 

With  the  new  year  (1835)  there  came  a  decisive  turning- 
point  in  my  life.  After  the  rupture  between  Minna  and  my- 
self at  Rudolstadt,  we  had  been  to  some  extent  lost  to  one  an- 
other; but  our  friendship  was  resumed  on  our  meeting  again 
in  Magdeburg;  this  time,  however,  it  remained  cool  and  pur- 
posely indifferent.  When  she  first  appeared  in  the  town,  a 
year  before,  her  beauty  had  attracted  considerable  notice,  and 
I  now  learned  that  she  was  the  object  of  great  attention  from 
several  young  noblemen,  and  had  shown  herself  not  unmoved 
by  the  compliment  implied  by  their  visits.  Although  her  repu- 
tation, thanks  to  her  absolute  discretion  and  self-respect,  re- 
mained beyond  reproach,  my  objection  to  her  receiving  such 
attentions  grew  very  strong,  owing  possibly,  in  some  degree, 
to  the  memory  of  the  sorrows  I  had  endured  in  Pachta's  house 
in  Prague.  Although  Minna  assured  me  that  the  conduct  of 
these  gentlemen  was  much  more  discreet  and  decent  than  that 
of  theatre-goers  of  the  bourgeois  class,  and  especially  than  that 
of  certain  young  musical  conductors,  she  never  succeeded  in 
soothing  the  bitterness  and  insistence  with  which  I  protested 
against  her  acceptance  of  such  attentions.  So  we  spent  three 
unhappy  months  in  ever-increasing  estrangement,  and  at  the 
same  time,  in  half-frantic  despair,  I  pretended  to  be  fond  of 
the  most  undesirable  associates,  and  acted  in  every  way  with 


RELATIONS   WITH   MINNA  115 

such  blatant  levity  that  Minna,  as  she  told  me  afterwards, 
was  filled  with  the  deepest  anxiety  and  solicitude  concerning 
me.  Moreover,  as  the  ladies  of  the  opera  company  were  not 
slow  to  pay  court  to  their  youthful  conductor,  and  especially 
as  one  young  woman,  whose  reputation  was  not  spotless,  openly 
set  her  cap  at  me,  this  anxiety  of  Minna's  seems  at  last  to 
have  culminated  in  a  definite  decision.  I  hit  upon  the  idea 
of  treating  the  elite  of  our  opera  company  to  oysters  and  punch 
in  my  own  room  on  New  Year's  Eve.  The  married  couples 
were  invited,  and  then  came  the  question  whether  Fraulein 
Planer  would  consent  to  take  part  in  such  a  festivity.  She 
accepted  quite  ingenuously,  and  presented  herself,  as  neatly 
and  becomingly  dressed  as  ever,  in  my  bachelor  apartments, 
where  things  soon  grew  pretty  lively.  I  had  already  warned 
my  landlord  that  we  were  not  likely  to  be  very  quiet,  and 
reassured  him  as  to  any  possible  damage  to  his  furniture. 
What  the  champagne  failed  to  accomplish,  the  punch  event- 
ually succeeded  in  doing;  all  the  restraints  of  petty  conven- 
tionality, which  the  company  usually  endeavoured  to  observe, 
were  cast  aside,  giving  place  to  an  unreserved  demeanour 
all  round,  to  which  no  one  objected.  And  then  it  was  that 
Minna's  queenly  dignity  distinguished  her  from  all  her  com- 
panions. She  never  lost  her  self-respect;  and  whilst  no  one 
ventured  to  take  the  slightest  liberty  with  her,  every  one  very 
clearly  recognised  the  simple  candour  with  which  she  responded 
to  my  kindly  and  solicitous  attentions.  They  could  not  fail 
to  see  that  the  link  existing  between  us  was  not  to  be  compared 
to  any  ordinary  liaison,  and  we  had  the  satisfaction  of  seeing 
the  flighty  young  lady  who  had  so  openly  angled  for  me  fall 
into  a  fit  over  the  discovery. 

From  that  time  onward  I  remained  permanently  on  the  best 
of  terms  with  Minna.  I  do  not  believe  that  she  ever  felt  any 
sort  of  passion  or  genuine  love  for  me,  or,  indeed,  that  she 
was  capable  of  such  a  thing,  and  I  can  therefore  only  describe 
her  feeling  for  me  as  one  of  heartfelt  goodwill,  and  the  sin- 
cerest  desire  for  my  success  and  prosperity,  inspired  as  she  was 
with  the  kindest  sympathy,  and  genuine  delight  at,  and  ad- 
miration for,  my  talents.  All  this  at  last  became  part  of  her 
nature.  She  obviously  had  a  very  favourable  opinion  of  my 


116  MY   LIFE 

abilities,  though  she  was  surprised  at  the  rapidity  of  my  suc- 
cess. My  eccentric  nature,  which  she  knew  so  well  how  to 
humour  pleasantly  by  her  gentleness,  stimulated  her  to  the 
continual  exercise  of  the  power,  so  flattering  to  her  own  vanity, 
and  without  ever  betraying  any  desire  or  ardour  herself,  she 
never  met  my  impetuous  advances  with  coldness. 

At  the  Magdeburg  theatre  I  had  already  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  a  very  interesting  woman  called  Mme.  Haas.  She 
was  an  actress,  no  longer  in  her  first  youth,  and  played  so- 
called  'chaperone's  parts.'  This  lady  won  my  sympathy  by 
telling  me  she  had  been  friendly  ever  since  her  youth  with 
Laube,  in  whose  destiny  she  continued  to  take  a  heartfelt  and 
cordial  interest.  She  was  clever,  but  far  from  happy,  and  an 
unprepossessing  exterior,  which  with  the  lapse  of  years  grew 
more  uninviting,  did  not  tend  to  make  her  any  happier.  She 
lived  in  meagre  circumstances,  with  one  child,  and  appeared 
to  remember  her  better  days  with  a  bitter  grief.  My  first  visit 
to  her  was  paid  merely  to  inquire  after  Laube's  fate,  but  I  soon 
became  a  frequent  and  familiar  caller.  As  she  and  Minna 
speedily  became  fast  friends,  we  three  often  spent  pleasant 
evenings  talking  together.  But  when,  later  on,  a  certain  jeal- 
ousy manifested  itself  on  the  part  of  the  elder  woman  towards 
the  younger,  our  confidential  relations  were  more  or  less  dis- 
turbed, for  it  particularly  grieved  me  to  hear  Minna's  talents 
and  mental  gifts  criticised  by  the  other.  One  evening  I  had 
promised  Minna  to  have  tea  with  her  and  Mme.  Haas,  but  I 
had  thoughtlessly  promised  to  go  to  a  whist  party  first.  This 
engagement  I  purposely  prolonged,  much  as  it  wearied  me, 
in  the  deliberate  hope  that  her  companion  —  who  had  already 
grown  irksome  to  me  —  might  have  left  before  my  arrival. 
The  only  way  in  which  I  could  do  this  was  by  drinking  hard, 
so  that  I  had  the  very  unusual  experience  of  rising  from  a  sober 
whist  party  in  a  completely  fuddled  condition,  into  which  I 
had  imperceptibly  fallen,  and  in  which  I  refused  to  believe. 
This  incredulity  deluded  me  into  keeping  my  engagement  for 
tea,  although  it  was  so  late.  To  my  intense  disgust  the  elder 
woman  was  still  there  when  I  arrived,  and  her  presence  at 
once  had  the  effect  of  rousing  my  tipsiness  to  a  violent  out- 
break; for  she  seemed  astonished  at  my  rowdy  and  unseemly 


A   TACIT    BETROTHAL  117 

behaviour,  and  made  several  remarks  upon  it  intended  for 
jokes,  whereupon  I  scoffed  at  her  in  the  coarsest  manner,  so 
that  she  immediately  left  the  house  in  high  dudgeon.  I  had 
still  sense  enough  to  be  conscious  of  Minna's  astonished  laughter 
at  my  outrageous  conduct.  As  soon  as  she  realised,  however, 
that  my  condition  was  such  as  to  render  my  removal  impossible 
without  great  commotion,  she  rapidly  formed  a  resolution  which 
must  indeed  have  cost  her  an  effort,  though  it  was  carried  out 
with  the  utmost  calmness  and  good-humour.  She  did  all  she 
could  for  me,  and  procured  me  the  necessary  relief,  and  when 
I  sank  into  a  heavy  slumber,  unhesitatingly  resigned  her  own 
bed  to  my  use.  There  I  slept  until  awakened  by  the  wonderful 
grey  of  dawn.  On  recognising  where  I  was,  I  at  once  realised  , 
and  grew  ever  more  convinced  of  the  fact  that  this  morning's 
sunrise  marked  the  starting-point  of  an  infinitely  momentous 
period  of  my  life.  The  demon  of  care  had  at  last  entered  into 
my  existence. 

Without  any  light-hearted  jests,  without  gaiety  or  joking  of 
any  description,  we  breakfasted  quietly  and  decorously  together, 
and  at  an  hour  when,  in  view  of  the  compromising  circumstances 
of  the  previous  evening,  we  could  set  out  without  attracting  un- 
due notice,  I  set  off  with  Minna  for  a  long  walk  beyond  the  city 
gates.  Then  we  parted,  and  from  that  day  forward  freely  and( 
openly  gratified  our  desires  as  an  acknowledged  pair  of  lovers. 

The  peculiar  direction  which  my  musical  activities  had  grad- 
ually taken  continued  to  receive  ever  fresh  impetus,  not  only 
from  the  successes,  but  also  from  the  disasters  which  about  this 
time  befell  my  efforts.  I  produced  the  overture  to  my  Feen 
with  very  satisfactory  results  at  a  concert  given  by  the  Logen- 
gesellschaft,  and  thereby  earned  considerable  applause.  On 
the  other  hand,  news  came  from  Leipzig  confirming  the  shabby 
action  of  the  directors  of  the  theatre  in  that  place  with  regard 
to  the  promised  presentation  of  this  opera.  But,  happily 
for  me,  I  had  begun  the  music  for  my  Liebesverboi,  an  oc- 
cupation which  so  absorbed  my  thoughts  that  I  lost  all  inter- 
est in  the  earlier  work,  and  abstained  with  proud  indifference 
from  all  further  effort  to  secure  its  performance  in  Leipzig. 
The  success  of  its  overture  alone  amply  repaid  me  for  the  com- 
position of  my  first  opera. 


118  MY  LIFE 

Meanwhile,  in  spite  of  numerous  other  distractions,  I  found 
time,  during  the  brief  six  months  of  this  theatrical  season  in 
Magdeburg,  to  complete  a  large  portion  of  my  new  opera,  be- 
sides doing  other  work.  I  ventured  to  introduce  two  duets 
from  it  at  a  concert  given  in  the  theatre,  and  their  reception 
encouraged  me  to  proceed  hopefully  with  the  rest  of  the  opera. 

During  the  second  half  of  this  season  my  friend  Apel  came 
to  sun  himself  enthusiastically  in  the  splendour  of  my  musical 
directorship.  He  had  written  a  drama,  Columbus,  which  I 
recommended  to  our  management  for  production.  This  was  a 
peculiarly  easy  favour  to  win,  as  Apel  volunteered  to  have  a 
new  scene,  representing  the  Alhambra,  painted  at  his  own 
expense.  Besides  this,  he  proposed  to  effect  many  welcome 
improvements  in  the  condition  of  the  actors  taking  part  in  his 
play;  for,  owing  to  the  continued  preference  displayed  by  the 
directress  for  Kneisel,  the  bass,  they  had  all  suffered  very  much 
from  uncertainty  about  their  wages.  The  piece  itself  appeared 
to  me  to  contain  much  that  was  good.  It  described  the  diffi- 
culties and  struggles  of  the  great  navigator  before  he  set  sail 
on  his  first  voyage  of  discovery.  The  drama  ended  with  the 
momentous  departure  of  his  ships  from  the  harbour  of  Palos, 
an  episode  whose  results  are  known  to  all  the  world.  At  my 
desire  Apel  submitted  his  play  to  my  uncle  Adolph,  and  even 
in  his  critical  opinion  it  was  remarkable  for  its  lively  and 
characteristic  popular  scenes.  On  the  other  hand,  a  love  ro- 
mance, which  he  had  woven  into  the  plot,  struck  me  as  un- 
necessary and  dull.  In  addition  to  a  brief  chorus  for  some 
Moors  who  were  expelled  from  Granada,  to  be  sung  en  their 
departure  from  the  familiar  home  country,  and  a  short  orchestral 
piece  by  way  of  conclusion,  I  also  dashed  off  an  overture  for 
my  friend's  play.  I  sketched  out  the  complete  draft  of  this 
one  evening  at  Minna's  house,  while  Apel  was  left  free  to  talk 
to  her  as  much  and  as  loudly  as  he  liked.  The  effect  this  com- 
position was  calculated  to  produce  rested  on  a  fundamental 
idea  which  was  quite  simple,  yet  startling  in  its  development. 
Unfortunately  I  worked  it  out  rather  hurriedly.  In  not  very 
carefully  chosen  phrasing  the  orchestra  was  to  represent  the 
ocean,  and,  as  far  as  might  be,  the  ship  upon  it.  A  forcible, 
pathetically  yearning  and  aspiring  theme  was  the  only  com- 


COLUMBUS    OVERTURE  119 

prehensible  idea  amid  the  swirl  of  enveloping  sound.  When 
the  whole  had  been  repeated,  there  was  a  sudden  jump  to  a 
different  theme  in  extreme  pianissimo,  accompanied  by  the 
swelling  vibrations  of  the  first  violins,  which  was  intended  to 
represent  a  Fata  Morgana.  I  had  secured  three  pairs  of 
trumpets  in  different  keys,  in  order  to  produce  this  exquisite, 
gradually  dawning  and  seductive  theme  with  the  utmost 
niceties  of  shade  and  variety  of  modulation.  This  was  in- 
tended to  represent  the  land  of  desire  towards  which  the  hero's 
eyes  are  turned,  and  whose  shores  seem  continually  to  rise  before 
him  only  to  sink  elusively  beneath  the  waves,  until  at  last  they 
soar  in  very  deed  above  the  western  horizon,  the  crown  of  all 
his  toil  and  search,  and  stand  clearly  and  unmistakably  revealed 
to  all  the  sailors,  a  vast  continent  of  the  future.  My  six 
trumpets  were  now  to  combine  in  one  key,  in  order  that  the 
theme  assigned  to  them  might  re-echo  in  glorious  jubilation. 
Familiar  as  I  was  with  the  excellence  of  the  Prussian  regi- 
mental trumpeters,  I  could  rely  upon  a  startling  effect,  especi- 
ally in  this  concluding  passage.  My  overture  astonished  every 
one,  and  was  tumultuously  applauded.  The  play  itself,  how- 
ever, was  acted  without  dignity.  A  conceited  comedian,  named 
Ludwig  Meyer,  completely  ruined  the  title  part,  for  which  he 
excused  himself  on  the  ground  that,  having  to  act  as  stage 
manager  also,  he  had  been  unable  to  commit  his  lines  to 
memory.  Nevertheless,  he  managed  to  enrich  his  wardrobe 
with  several  splendid  costumes  at  Apel's  expense,  wearing 
them,  as  Columbus,  one  after  the  other.  At  all  events,  Apel 
had  lived  to  see  a  play  of  his  own  actually  performed,  and 
although  this  was  never  repeated,  yet  it  afforded  me  an  oppor- 
tunity of  increasing  my  personal  popularity  with  the  people  of 
Magdeburg,  as  the  overture  was  several  times  repeated  at  con- 
certs by  special  request. 

But  the  chief  event  of  this  theatrical  season  occurred  towards 
its  close.  I  induced  Mme.  Schroder-Devrient,  who  was  staying 
in  Leipzig,  to  come  to  us  for  a  few  special  performances,  when, 
on  two  occasions,  I  had  the  great  satisfaction  and  stimulating 
experience  of  myself  conducting  the  operas  in  which  she  sang, 
and  thus  entering  into  immediate  artistic  collaboration  with 
her.  She  appeared  as  Desdemona  and  Romeo.  In  the  latter 


120  MY   LIFE 

role  particularly  she  surpassed  herself,  and  kindled  a  fresh 
flame  in  my  breast.  This  visit  brought  us  also  into  closer 
personal  contact.  So  kindly  disposed  and  sympathetic  did 
she  show  herself  towards  me,  that  she  even  volunteered  to 
lend  me  her  services  at  a  concert  which  I  proposed  to  give  for 
my  own  benefit,  although  this  would  necessitate  her  returning 
after  a  brief  absence.  Under  circumstances  so  auspicious  I 
could  only  expect  the  best  possible  results  from  my  concert, 
and  in  my  situation  at  that  time  its  proceeds  were  a  matter  of 
vital  importance  to  me.  My  scanty  salary  from  the  Magde- 
burg opera  company  had  become  altogether  illusory,  being 
paid  only  in  small  and  irregular  instalments,  so  that  I  could 
see  but  one  way  of  meeting  my  daily  expenses.  These  included 
frequent  entertainment  of  a  large  circle  of  friends,  con- 
sisting of  singers  and  players,  and  the  situation  had  become 
unpleasantly  accentuated  by  no  small  number  of  debts.  True, 
I  did  not  know  their  exact  amount;  but  reckoned  that  I  could 
at  least  form  an  advantageous,  if  indefinite,  estimate  of  the 
sum  to  be  realized  by  my  concert,  whereby  the  two  unknown 
quantities  might  balance  each  other.  I  therefore  consoled 
my  creditors  with  the  tale  of  these  fabulous  receipts,  which 
were  to  pay  them  all  in  full  the  day  after  the  concert.  I  even 
went  so  far  as  to  invite  them  to  come  and  be  paid  at  the  hotel 
to  which  I  had  moved  at  the  close  of  the  season. 

And,  indeed,  there  was  nothing  unreasonable  in  my  counting 
on  the  highest  imaginable  receipts,  when  supported  by  so  great 
and  popular  a  singer,  who,  moreover,  was  returning  to  Magde- 
burg on  purpose  for  the  event.  I  consequently  acted  with 
reckless  prodigality  as  regards  cost,  launching  out  into  all 
manner  of  musical  extravagance,  such  as  engaging  an  excellent 
and  much  larger  orchestra,  and  arranging  many  rehearsals. 
Unfortunately  for  me,  however,  nobody  would  believe  that  such 
a  famous  actress,  whose  time  was  so  precious,  would  really 
return  again  to  please  a  little  Magdeburg  conductor.  My 
pompous  announcement  of  her  appearance  was  almost  uni- 
versally regarded  as  a  deceitful  manosuvre,  and  people  took 
offence  at  the  high  prices  charged  for  seats.  The  result  was 
that  the  hall  was  only  very  scantily  filled,  a  fact  which  particu- 
larly grieved  me  on  account  of  my  generous  patroness.  Her 


A   STAMPEDE  121 

promise  I  had  never  doubted.  Punctually  on  the  day  appointed 
she  reappeared  to  support  me,  and  now  had  the  painful  and  un- 
accustomed experience  of  performing  before  a  small  audience. 
Fortunately,  she  treated  the  matter  with  great  good-humour 
(which,  I  learned  later,  was  prompted  by  other  motives,  not 
personally  concerning  me).  Among  several  pieces  she  sang 
Beethoven's  Adelaide  most  exquisitely,  wherein,  to  my  own 
astonishment,  I  accompanied  her  on  the  piano.  But,  alas !  an- 
other and  more  unexpected  mishap  befell  my  concert,  through 
our  unfortunate  selection  of  pieces.  Owing  to  the  excessive 
reverberation  of  the  saloon  in  the  Hotel  '  The  City  of  London/ 
the  noise  was  unbearable.  My  Columbus  Overture,  with  its  six 
trumpets,  had  early  in  the  evening  filled  the  audience  with  ter- 
ror; and  now,  at  the  end,  came  Beethoven's  Schlacht  bei  Vit- 
toria,  for  which,  in  enthusiastic  expectation  of  limitless  receipts, 
I  had  provided  every  imaginable  orchestral  luxury.  The  firing 
of  cannon  and  musketry  was  organised  with  the  utmost  elabora- 
tion, on  both  the  French  and  English  sides,  by  means  of  specially 
constructed  and  costly  apparatus;  while  trumpets  and  bugles 
had  been  doubled  and  trebled.  Then  began  a  battle,  such  as 
has  seldom  been  more  cruelly  fought  in  a  concert-room.  The 
orchestra  flung  itself,  so  to  speak,  upon  the  scanty  audience 
with  such  an  overwhelming  superiority  of  numbers  that  the 
latter  speedily  gave  up  all  thought  of  resistance  and  literally 
took  to  flight.  Mme.  Schroder-Devrient  had  kindly  taken  a 
front  seat,  that  she  might  hear  the  concert  to  an  end.  Much 
as  she  may  have  been  inured  to  terrors  of  this  kind,  this  was 
more  than  she  could  stand,  even  out  of  friendship  for  me. 
When,  therefore,  the  English  made  a  fresh  desperate  assault 
upon  the  French  position,  she  took  to  flight,  almost  wringing 
her  hands.  Her  action  became  the  signal  for  a  panic-stricken 
stampede.  Every  one  rushed  out ;  and  Wellington's  victory  was 
finally  celebrated  in  a  confidential  outburst  between  myself  and 
the  orchestra  alone.  Thus  ended  this  wonderful  musical  festival. 
Schroder-Devrient  at  once  departed,  deeply  regretting  the  ill- 
success  of  her  well-meant  effort,  and  kindly  left  me  to  my  fate. 
After  seeking  comfort  in  the  arms  of  my  sorrowing  sweet- 

I heart,  and  attempting  to  nerve  myself  for  the  morrow's  battle, 
which  did  not  seem  likely  to  end  in  a  victorious  symphony,  I 


122  MY   LIFE 

returned  next  morning  to  the  hotel.  I  found  I  could  only  reach 
my  rooms  by  running  the  gauntlet  between  long  rows  of  men 
and  women  in  double  file,  who  had  all  been  specially  invited 
thither  for  the  settlement  of  their  respective  affairs.  Keserving 
the  right  to  select  individuals  from  among  my  visitors  for 
separate  interview,  I  first  of  all  led  in  the  second  trumpeter 
of  the  orchestra,  whose  duty  it  had  been  to  look  after  the  cash 
and  the  music.  From  his  account  I  learned  that,  owing  to  the 
high  fees  which,  in  my  generous  enthusiasm,  I  had  promised  to 
the  orchestra,  a  few  more  shillings  and  sixpences  would  still 
have  to  come  out  of  my  own  pocket  to  meet  these  charges 
alone.  When  this  was  settled,  the  position  of  affairs  was  plain. 
The  next  person  I  invited  to  come  in  was  Mme.  Gottschalk,  a 
trustworthy  Jewess,  with  whom  I  wanted  to  come  to  some  ar- 
rangement respecting  the  present  crisis.  She  perceived  at  once 
that  more  than  ordinary  help  was  required  in  this  case,  but 
did  not  doubt  that  I  should  be  able  to  obtain  it  from  my 
opulent  connections  in  Leipzig.  She  undertook,  therefore,  to 
appease  the  other  creditors  with  tranquillising  assurances,  and 
railed,  or  pretended  to  rail,  against  their  indecent  conduct  with 
great  vigour.  Thus  at  last  we  succeeded,  though  not  without 
some  difficulty,  in  making  the  corridor  outside  my  door  once 
more  passable. 

The  theatrical  season  was  now  over,  our  company  on  the 
point  of  dissolution,  and  I  myself  free  from  my  appointment. 
But  meanwhile  the  unhappy  director  of  our  theatre  had  passed 
from  a  state  of  chronic  to  one  of  acute  bankruptcy.  He  paid 
with  paper  money,  that  is  to  say,  with  whole  sheets  of  box- 
tickets  for  performances  which  he  guaranteed  should  take  place. 
By  dint  of  great  craft  Minna  managed  to  extract  some  profit 
even  from  these  singular  treasury-bonds.  She  was  living  at 
this  time  most  frugally  and  economically.  Moreover,  as  the 
dramatic  company  still  continued  its  efforts  on  behalf  of  its 
members  —  only  the  opera  troupe  having  been  dissolved  —  she 
remained  at  the  theatre.  Thus,  when  I  started  out  on  my 
compulsory  return  to  Leipzig,  she  saw  me  off  with  hearty  good- 
wishes  for  our  speedy  reunion,  promising  to  spend  the  next 
holidays  in  visiting  her  parents  in  Dresden,  on  which  occasion 
she  hoped  also  to  look  me  up  in  Leipzig. 


RETURN   TO  LEIPZIG  123 

Thus  it  came  about  that  early  in  May  I  once  more  went 
home  to  my  own  folk,  in  order  that  after  this  abortive  first 
attempt  at  civic  independence,  I  might  finally  lift  the  load  of 
debt  with  which  my  efforts  in  Magdeburg  had  burdened  me. 
An  intelligent  brown  poodle  faithfully  accompanied  me,  and 
was  entrusted  to  my  family  for  food  and  entertainment  as  the 
only  visible  property  I  had  acquired.  Nevertheless,  my  mother 
and  Rosalie  succeeded  in  founding  good  hopes  for  my  future 
career  upon  the  bare  fact  of  my  being  able  to  conduct  an 
orchestra.  To  me,  on  the  other  hand,  the  thought  of  returning 
once  more  to  my  former  life  with  my  family  was  very  discomfit- 
ing. My  relation  to  Minna  in  particular  spurred  me  on  to  re- 
sume my  interrupted  career  as  speedily  as  possible.  The  great 
change  which  had  come  over  me  in  this  respect  was  more  ap- 
parent than  ever  when  Minna  spent  a  few  days  with  me  in 
Leipzig  on  her  way  home.  Her  familiar  and  genial  presence 
proclaimed  that  my  days  of  parental  dependence  were  past 
and  gone.  We  discussed  the  renewal  of  my  Magdeburg  engage- 
ment, and  I  promised  her  an  early  visit  in  Dresden.  I  obtained 
permission  from  my  mother  and  sister  to  invite  her  one  evening 
to  tea,  and  in  this  way  I  introduced  her  to  my  family.  Rosalie 
saw  at  once  how  matters  stood  with  me,  but  made  no  further 
use  of  the  discovery  than  to  tease  me  about  being  in  love.  To 
her  the  affair  did  not  appear  dangerous;  but  to  me  things 
wore  a  very  different  aspect,  for  this  love-lorn  attachment  was 
entirely  in  keeping  with  my  independent  spirit,  and  my  ambi- 
tion to  win  myself  a  place  in  the  world  of  art. 

My  distaste  for  Leipzig  itself  was  furthermore  strengthened 
by  a  change  which  occurred  there  at  this  time  in  the  realm  of 
music.  At  the  very  time  that  I,  in  Magdeburg,  was  attempting 
to  make  my  reputation  as  a  musical  conductor  by  thoughtless 
submission  to  the  frivolous  taste  of  the  day,  Mendelssohn- 
Bartholdy  was  conducting  the  Gewandhaus  concerts,  and  in- 
augurating a  momentous  epoch  for  himself  and  the  musical 
taste  of  Leipzig.  His  influence  had  put  an  end  to  the  simple 
ingenuousness  with  which  the  Leipzig  public  had  hitherto 
judged  the  productions  of  its  sociable  subscription  concerts. 
Through  the  influence  of  my  good  old  friend  Pohlenz,  who  was 
not  yet  altogether  laid  on  the  shelf,  I  managed  to  produce  my 


124:  MY   LIFE 

Columbus  Overture  at  a  benefit  concert  given  by  the  favourite 
young  singer,  Livia  Gerhart  But,  to  my  amazement,  I  found 
that  the  taste  of  the  musical  public  in  Leipzig  had  been  given 
a  different  bent,  which  not  even  my  rapturously  applauded 
overture,  with  its  brilliant  combination  of  six  trumpets,  could 
influence.  This  experience  deepened  my  dislike  of  everything 
approaching  a  classical  tone,  in  which  sentiment  I  found  myself 
in  complete  accord  with  honest  Pohlenz,  who  sighed  good- 
naturedly  over  the  downfall  of  the  good  old  times. 

Arrangements  for  a  musical  festival  at  Dessau,  under  Fried- 
rich  Schneider's  conductorship,  offered  me  a  welcome  'chance 
of  quitting  Leipzig.  For  this  journey,  which  could  be  per- 
formed on  foot  in  seven  hours,  I  had  to  procure  a  passport 
for  eight  days.  This  document  was  destined  to  play  an  impor- 
tant part  in  my  life  for  many  years  to  come;  for  on  several 
occasions  and  in  various  European  countries  it  was  the  only 
paper  I  possessed  to  prove  my  identity.  In  fact,  owing  to 
my  evasion  of  military  duty  in  Saxony,  I  never  again  succeeded 
in  obtaining  a  regular  pass  until  I  was  appointed  musical 
conductor  in  Dresden.  I  derived  very  little  artistic  pleasure 
or  benefit  of  any  kind  from  this  occasion;  on  the  contrary, 
it  gave  a  fresh  impetus  to  my  hatred  of  the  classical.  I  heard 
Beethoven's  Symphony  in  C  minor  conducted  by  a  man  whose 
physiognomy,  resembling  that  of  a  drunken  satyr,  filled  me 
with  unconquerable  disgust.  In  spite  of  an  interminable  row 
of  contrabassi,  with  which  a  conductor  usually  coquettes  at 
musical  festivals,  his  performance  was  so  expressionless  and 
inane  that  I  turned  away  in  disgust  as  from  an  alarming  and 
repulsive  problem,  and  desisted  from  all  attempts  to  explain  the 
impassable  gulf  which,  as  I  again  perceived,  yawned  between 
my  own  vivid  and  imaginative  conception  of  this  work  and 
the  only  living  presentations  of  it  which  I  had  ever  heard. 
But  for  the  present  my  tormented  spirits  were  cheered  and 
calmed  by  hearing  the  classical  Schneider's  oratorio  Absalom 
rendered  as  an  absolute  burlesque. 

It  was  in  Dessau  that  Minna  had  made  her  first  debut  on  the 
stage,  and  while  there  I  heard  her  spoken  of  by  frivolous  young 
men  in  the  tone  usual  in  such  circles  when  discussing  young 
and  beautiful  actresses.  My  eagerness  in  contradicting  this 


A   JOURNEY   WITH   MINNA  125 

chatter  and  confounding  the  scandalmongers  revealed  to  me 
more  clearly  than  ever  the  strength  of  the  passion  which  drew 
me  to  her. 

I  therefore  returned  to  Leipzig  without  calling  on  my  rela- 
tives, and  there  procured  means  for  an  immediate  journey  to 
Dresden.  On  the  way  (the  journey  was  still  performed  by 
express  coach)  I  met  Minna,  accompanied  by  one  of  her  sisters, 
already  on  the  way  back  to  Magdeburg.  Promptly  procuring 
a  posting  ticket  for  the  return  journey  to  Leipzig,  I  actually 
set  off  thither  with  my  dear  girl;  but  by  the  time  we  reached 
the  next  station  I  had  succeeded  in  persuading  her  to  turn 
back  with  me  to  Dresden.  By  this  time  the  mail-coach  was 
far  ahead  of  us,  and  we  had  to  travel  by  special  post-chaise. 
This  lively  bustling  to  and  fro  seemed  to  astonish  the  two 
girls,  and  put  them  into  high  spirits.  The  extravagance  of 
my  conduct  had  evidently  roused  them  to  the  expectation  of 
adventures,  and  it  now  behoved  me  to  fulfil  this  expectation. 
Procuring  from  a  Dresden  acquaintance  the  necessary  cash, 
I  conducted  my  two  lady  friends  through  the  Saxon  Alps, 
where  we  spent  several  right  merry  days  of  innocent  and  youth- 
ful gaiety.  Only  once  was  this  disturbed  by  a  passing  fit  of 
jealousy  on  my  part,  for  which,  indeed,  there  was  no  occasion, 
but  which  fed  itself  in  my  heart  on  a  nervous  apprehension 
of  the  future,  and  upon  the  experience  I  had  already  gained 
of  womenkind.  Yet,  despite  this  blot,  our  excursion  still 
lingers  in  my  memory  as  the  sweetest  and  almost  sole  remem- 
brance of  unalloyed  happiness  in  the  whole  of  my  life  as  a  young 
man.  One  evening  in  particular  stands  out  in  bright  relief, 
during  which  we  sat  together  almost  all  night  at  the  watering- 
place  of  Schandau  in  glorious  summer  weather.  Indeed,  my 
subsequent  long  and  anxious  connection  with  Minna,  inter- 
woven as  it  was  with  the  most  painful  and  bitter  vicissitudes, 
has  often  appeared  to  me  as  a  persistently  prolonged  expiation 
of  the  brief  and  harmless  enjoyment  of  those  few  days; 

After  accompanying  Minna  to  Leipzig,  whence  she  continued 
her  journey  to  Magdeburg,  I  presented  myself  to  my  family,  but 
told  them  nothing  of  my  Dresden  excursion.  I  now  braced  my 
energies,  as  though  under  the  stern  compulsion  of  a  strange  and 
deep  sense  of  duty,  to  the  task  of  making  such  arrangements 


126  MY   LIFE 

as  would  speedily  restore  me  to  my  dear  one's  side.  To  this 
end  a  fresh  engagement  had  to  be  negotiated  with  Director 
Bethmann  for  the  coming  winter  season.  Unable  to  await  the 
conclusion  of  our  contract  in  Leipzig,  I  availed  myself  of  Laube's 
presence  at  the  baths  in  Kosen,  near  Naumburg,  to  pay  him 
a  visit  Laube  had  only  recently  been  discharged  from  the 
Berlin  municipal  gaol,  after  a  tormenting  inquisition  of  nearly 
a  year's  duration.  On  giving  his  parole  not  to  leave  the  country 
until  the  verdict  had  been  given,  he  had  been  permitted  to 
retire  to  Kosen,  from  which  place  he,  one  evening,  paid  us  a 
secret  visit  in  Leipzig.  I  can  still  call  his  woebegone  appear- 
ance to  mind.  He  seemed  hopelessly  resigned,  though  he 
spoke  cheerfully  with  regard  to  all  his  earlier  dreams  of 
better  things;  and  owing  to  my  own  worries  at  that  time 
about  the  critical  state  of  my  affairs,  this  impression  still 
remains  one  of  my  saddest  and  most  painful  recollections. 
While  at  Kosen  I  showed  him  a  good  many  of  the  verses 
for  my  Liebesverbot,  and  although  he  spoke  coldly  of  my  pre- 
sumption in  wishing  to  write  my  own  libretto,  I  was  slightly 
encouraged  by  his  appreciation  of  my  work. 

Meanwhile  I  impatiently  awaited  letters  from  Magdeburg. 
Not  that  I  had  any  doubt  as  to  the  renewal  of  my  engage- 
ment ;  on  the  contrary,  I  had  every  reason  to  regard  myself  as 
a  good  acquisition  for  Bethmann;  but  I  felt  as  though  nothing 
which  tended  to  bring  me  nearer  to  Minna  could  move  fast 
enough.  As  soon  as  I  received  the  necessary  tidings,  I  hurried 
away  to  make  all  needful  arrangements  on  the  spot  for  ensuring 
a  magnificent  success  in  the  coming  Magdeburg  operatic  season. 

Through  the  tireless  munificence  of  the  King  of  Prussia  fresh 
and  final  assistance  had  been  granted  to  our  perennially  bank- 
rupt theatrical  director.  His  Majesty  had  assigned  a  not  incon- 
siderable sum  to  a  committee  consisting  of  substantial  Magde- 
burg citizens,  as  a  subsidy  to  be  expended  on  the  theatre  under 
Bethmann's  management  What  this  meant,  and  the  respect 
with  which  I  thereupon  regarded  the  artistic  conditions  of 
Magdeburg,  may  be  best  imagined  if  one  remembers  the 
neglected  and  forlorn  surroundings  amid  which  such  provincial 
theatres  usually  drag  out  their  lives.  I  offered  at  once  to  under- 
take a  long  journey  in  search  of  good  operatic  singers.  I  said 


BOHEMIA  127 

I  would  find  the  means  for  this  at  my  own  risk,  and  the  only 
guarantee  I  demanded  from  the  management  for  eventual  reim- 
bursement was  that  they  should  assign  me  the  proceeds  of  a 
future  benefit  performance.  This  offer  was  gladly  accepted, 
and  in  pompous  tones  the  director  furnished  me  with  the 
necessary  powers,  and  moreover  gave  me  his  parting  blessing. 
During  this  brief  interval  I  lived  once  more  in  intimate  com- 
munion with  Minna  —  who  now  had  her  mother  with  her  —  and 
then  took  fresh  leave  of  her  for  my  venturesome  enterprise. 

But  when  I  got  to  Leipzig  I  found  it  by  no  means  easy  to 
procure  the  funds,  so  confidently  counted  on  when  in  Magde- 
burg, for  the  expenses  of  my  projected  journey.  The  glamour 
of  the  royal  protection  of  Prussia  for  our  theatrical  under- 
taking, which  I  portrayed  in  the  liveliest  colours  to  my  good 
brother-in-law  Brockhaus,  quite  failed  to  dazzle  him,  and  it  was 
at  the  cost  of  great  pains  and  humiliation  that  I  finally  got 
my  ship  of  discovery  under  weigh. 

I  was  naturally  drawn  first  of  all  to  my  old  wonderland  of 
Bohemia.  There  I  merely  touched  at  Prague  and,  without 
visiting  my  lovely  lady  friends,  I  hurried  forward  so  that  I 
might  first  sample  the  opera  company  then  playing  for  the  sea- 
son at  Karlsbad.  Impatient  to  discover  as  many  talents  as  I 
could  as  soon  as  possible,  so  as  not  to  exhaust  my  funds  to  no 
purpose,  I  attended  a  performance  of  La  Dame  Blanche,  sin- 
cerely hoping  to  find  the  whole  performance  first  class.  But  not 
until  much  later  did  I  fully  realise  how  wretched  was  the 
quality  of  all  these  singers.  I  selected  one  of  them,  a  bass 
named  Graf,  who  was  singing  Gaveston.  When  in  due  course 
he  made  his  debut  at  Magdeburg,  he  provoked  so  much  well- 
founded  dissatisfaction,  that  I  could  not  find  a  word  to  say  in 
reply  to  the  mockery  which  this  acquisition  brought  upon  me. 

But  the  small  success  with  which  the  real  object  of  my  tour 
was  attended  was  counterbalanced  by  the  pleasantness  of  the 
journey  itself.  The  trip  through  Eger,  over  the  Fichtel  moun- 
tains, and  the  entry  into  Bayreuth,  gloriously  illuminated  by 
the  setting  sun,  have  remained  happy  memories  to  this  day. 

My  next  goal  was  Nuremberg,  where  my  sister  Clara  and  her 
husband  were  acting,  and  from  whom  I  might  reckon  on  sound 
information  as  to  the  object  of  my  search.  It  was  particularly 


128  MY   LIFE 

nice  to  be  hospitably  received  in  my  sister's  house,  where  I 
hoped  to  revive  my  somewhat  exhausted  means  of  travel. 
In  this  hope  I  reckoned  chiefly  upon  the  sale  of  a  snuff-box 
presented  to  me  by  a  friend,  which  I  had  secret  reasons  to 
suppose  was  made  of  platinum.  To  this  I  could  add  a  gold 
signet-ring,  given  me  by  my  friend  Apel  for  composing  the 
overture  to  his  Columbus.  The  value  of  the  snuff-box  un- 
fortunately proved  to  be  entirely  imaginary;  but  by  pawning 
these  two  jewels,  the  only  ones  I  had  left,  I  hoped  to  provide 
myself  with  the  bare  necessaries  for  continuing  my  journey 
to  Frankfort  It  was  to  this  place  and  the  Rhine  district 
that  the  information  I  had  gathered  led  me  to  direct  my  steps. 
Before  leaving  I  persuaded  my  sister  and  brother-in-law  to 
accept  engagements  in  Magdeburg;  but  I  still  lacked  a  first 
tenor  and  a  soprano,  whom  hitherto  I  had  altogether  failed 
to  discover. 

My  stay  in  Nuremberg  was  most  agreeably  prolonged 
through  a  renewed  meeting  with  Schroder-Devrient,  who  just 
at  that  time  was  fulfilling  a  short  engagement  in  that  town. 
Meeting  her  again  was  like  seeing  the  clouds  disperse,  which, 
since  our  last  meeting,  had  darkened  my  artistic  horizon. 

The  Nuremberg  operatic  company  had  a  very  limited  reper- 
toire. Besides  Fidelio  they  could  produce  nothing  save 
Die  Schweizerfamilie,  a  fact  about  which  this  great  singer 
complained,  as  this  was  one  of  her  first  parts  sung  in  early 
youth,  for  which  she  was  hardly  any  longer  suited,  and  which, 
in  addition,  she  had  played  ad  nauseam.  I  also  looked  forward 
to  the  performance  of  Die  Schweizerfamilie  with  misgivings, 
and  even  with  anxiety,  for  I  feared  lest  this  tame  opera  and  the 
old-fashioned  sentimental  part  of  Emmeline  would  weaken 
the  great  impression  the  public,  as  well  as  myself,  had  formed 
up  to  that  moment  of  the  work  of  this  sublime  artist 
Imagine,  therefore,  how  deeply  moved  and  astonished  I  was, 
on  the  evening  of  the  performance,  to  find  that  it  was  in  this 
very  part  that  I  first  realised  the  truly  transcendental  genius 
of  this  extraordinary  woman.  That  anything  so  great  as 
her  interpretation  of  the  character  of  the  Swiss  maiden  could 
not  be  handed  down  to  posterity  as  a  monument  for  all  time 
can  only  be  looked  upon  as  one  of  the  most  sublime  sacrifices 


EXTRAVAGANT   GAIETY  129 

demanded  by  dramatic  art,  and  as  one  of  its  highest  manifesta- 
tions. When,  therefore,  such  phenomena  appear,  we  cannot 
hold  them  in  too  great  reverence,  nor  look  upon  them  as  too 
sacred. 

Apart  from  all  these  new  experiences  which  were  to  become 
of  so  much  value  to  my  whole  life  and  to  my  artistic  develop- 
ment, the  impressions  I  received  at  Nuremberg,  though  they 
were  apparently  trivial  in  their  origin,  left  such  indelible  traces 
on  my  mind,  that  they  revived  within  me  later  on,  though 
in  quite  a  different  and  novel  form. 

My  brother-in-law,  Wolfram,  was  a  great  favourite  with  the 
Nuremberg  theatrical  world;  he  was  witty  and  sociable,  and 
as  such  made  himself  much  liked  in  theatrical  circles.  On  this 
occasion  I  received  singularly  delightful  proofs  of  the  spirit 
of  extravagant  gaiety  manifested  on  these  evenings  at  the  inn, 
in  which  I  also  took  part.  A  master  carpenter,  named  Lauer- 
mann,  a  little  thick-set  man,  no  longer  young,  of  comical 
appearance  and  gifted  only  with  the  roughest  dialect,  was 
pointed  out  to  me  in  one  of  the  inns  visited  by  our  friends  as 
one  of  those  oddities  who  involuntarily  contributed  most  to 
the  amusement  of  the  local  wags.  Lauermann,  it  seems,  im- 
agined himself  an  excellent  singer,  and  as  a  result  of  this  pre- 
sumption, evinced  interest  only  in  those  in  whom  he  thought 
he  recognised  a  like  talent.  In  spite  of  the  fact  that,  owing 
to  this  singular  peculiarity,  he  became  the  butt  of  constant 
jest  and  scornful  mockery,  he  never  failed  to  appear  every 
evening  among  his  laughter-loving  persecutors.  So  often  had 
he  been  laughed  at  and  hurt  by  their  scorn,  that  it  became 
very  difficult  to  persuade  him  to  give  a  display  of  his  artistic 
skill,  and  this  at  last  could  only  be  effected  by  artfully  de- 
vised traps,  so  laid  as  to  appeal  to  his  vanity.  My  arrival 
as  an  unknown  stranger  was  utilised  for  a  manoeuvre  of  this 
kind.  How  poor  was  the  opinion  they  held  of  the  unfortunate 
mastersinger's  judgment  was  revealed  when,  to  my  great 
amazement,  my  brother-in-law  introduced  me  to  him  as  the 
great  Italian  singer,  Lablache.  To  his  credit  I  must  confess 
that  Lauermann  surveyed  me  for  a  long  time  with  incredulous 
distrust,  and  commented  with  cautious  suspicion  on  my  juvenile 
appearance,  but  especially  on  the  evidently  tenor  character 


130  MY   LIFE 

of  my  voice.  But  the  whole  art  of  these  tavern  associates  and 
their  principal  enjoyment  consisted  in  leading  this  poor  enthusi- 
ast to  believe  the  incredible,  a  task  on  which  they  spared  neither 
time  nor  pains. 

My  brother-in-law  succeeded  in  making  the  carpenter  be- 
lieve that  I,  while  receiving  fabulous  sums  for  my  perform- 
ances, wished  by  a  singular  act  of  dissimulation,  and  by 
visiting  public  inns,  to  withdraw  from  the  general  public ;  and 
that,  moreover,  when  it  came  to  a  meeting  between  '  Lauer- 
mann '  and  '  Lablache,'  the  only  real  interest  could  be  to  hear 
Lauennann  and  not  Lablache,  seeing  that  the  former  had  noth- 
ing to  learn  from  the  latter,  but  only  Lablache  from  him.  So 
singular  was  the  conflict  between  incredulity,  on  the  one  hand, 
and  keenly  excited  vanity  on  the  other,  that  finally  the  poor 
carpenter  became  really  attractive  to  me.  I  began  to  play  the 
role  assigned  me  with  all  the  skill  I  could  command,  and  after 
a  couple  of  hours,  which  were  relieved  by  the  strangest  antics, 
we  at  last  gained  our  end.  The  wondrous  mortal,  whose  flash- 
ing eyes  had  long  been  fixed  on  me  in  the  greatest  excitement, 
worked  his  muscles  in  the  peculiarly  fantastic  fashion  which 
we  are  accustomed  to  associate  with  a  music-making  automa- 
ton, the  mechanism  of  which  has  been  duly  wound  up:  his 
lips  quivered,  his  teeth  gnashed,  his  eyes  rolled  convulsively, 
until  finally  there  broke  forth,  in  a  hoarse  oily  voice,  an  uncom- 
monly trivial  street-ballad.  Its  delivery,  accompanied  by  a 
regular  movement  of  his  outstretched  thumbs  behind  the  ears, 
and  during  which  his  fat  face  glowed  the  brightest  red,  was  un- 
happily greeted  with  a  wild  burst  of  laughter  from  all  present, 
which  excited  the  unlucky  master  to  the  most  furious  wrath. 
With  studied  cruelty  this  wrath  was  greeted  by  those,  who 
until  then  had  shamelessly  flattered  him,  with  the  most  extrava- 
gant mockery,  until  the  poor  wretch  at  last  absolutely  foamed 
with  rage. 

As  he  was  leaving  the  inn  amid  a  hail  of  curses  from  his 
infamous  friends,  an  impulse  of  genuine  pity  prompted  me 
to  follow  him,  that  I  might  beg  his  forgiveness  and  seek  in 
some  way  to  pacify  him,  a  task  all  the  more  difficult  since  he 
was  especially  bitter  against  me  as  the  latest  of  his  enemies, 
and  the  one  who  had  so  deeply  deceived  his  eager  hope  of 


THE    TROUBLED    HOST  131 

hearing  the  genuine  Lablache.  Nevertheless,  I  succeeded  in 
stopping  him  on  the  threshold;  and  now  the  riotous  company 
silently  entered  into  an  extraordinary  conspiracy  to  induce 
Lauermann  to  sing  again  that  very  evening.  How  they 
managed  this  I  can  as  little  remember  as  I  can  call  to  mind 
the  effect  of  the  spirituous  liquors  I  imbibed.  In  any  case,  I__^ 
suspect  that  drink  must  eventually  have  been  the  means  of  sub- 
duing Lauermann,  just  as  it  also  rendered  my  own  recollections 
of  the  wonderful  events  of  that  prolonged  evening  at  the  inn 
extremely  vague.  After  Lauermann  had  for  the  second  time 
suffered  the  same  mockery,  the  whole  company  felt  itself  bound 
to  accompany  the  unhappy  man  to  his  home.  They  carried 
him  thither  in  a  wheelbarrow,  which  they  found  outside  the 
house,  and  in  this  he  arrived,  in  triumph,  at  his  own  door, 
in  one  of  those  marvellous  narrow  alleys  peculiar  to  the  old 
city.  Erau  Lauermann,  who  was  aroused  from  slumber  to 
receive  her  husband,  enabled  us,  by  her  torrent  of  curses,  to 
form  some  idea  of  the  nature  of  their  marital  and  domestic 
relations.  Mockery  of  her  husband's  vocal  talents  was  with 
her  also  a  familiar  theme;  but  to  this  she  now  added  the  most 
dreadful  reproaches  for  the  worthless  scamps  who,  by  encour- 
aging him  in  this  delusion,  kept  him  from  profitably  following 
his  trade,  and  even  led  him  to  such  scenes  as  the  present  one. 
Thereupon  the  pride  of  the  suffering  mastersinger  reasserted 
itself;  for  while  his  wife  painfully  assisted  him  to  mount  the 
stairs,  he  harshly  denied  her  right  to  sit  in  judgment  upon  his 
vocal  gifts,  and  sternly  ordered  her  to  be  silent.  But  even 
now  this  wonderful  night-adventure  was  by  no  means  over. 
The  entire  swarm  moved  once  more  in  the  direction  of  the  inn. 
Before  the  house,  however,  we  found  a  number  of  fellows  con- 
gregated, among  them  several  workmen,  against  whom,  owing 
to  police  regulations  as  to  closing  hours,  the  doors  were  shut. 
But  the  regular  guests  of  the  house,  who  were  of  our  party, 
and  who  were  on  terms  of  old  friendship  with  the  host,  thought 
that  it  was  nevertheless  permissible  and  possible  to  demand 
entrance.  The  host  was  troubled  at  having  to  bar  his  door 
against  friends,  whose  voices  he  recognised;  yet  it  was  neces- 
sary to  prevent  the  new  arrivals  from  forcing  a  way  in  with 
them.  Out  of  this  situation  a  mighty  confusion  arose,  which, 


132  MY   LIFE 

what  with  shouting  and  clamour  and  an  inexplicable  growth  in 
the  number  of  the  disputants,  soon  assumed  a  truly  demoniacal 
character.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  in  a  few  moments  the 
whole  town  would  break  into  a  tumult,  and  I  thought  1  should 
once  more  have  to  witness  a  revolution,  the  real  origin  of  which 
no  man  could  comprehend.  Then  suddenly  I  heard  some  one 
fall,  and,  as  though  by  magic,  the  whole  mass  scattered  in 
every  direction.  One  of  the  regular  guests,  who  was  familiar 
with  an  ancient  Nuremberg  boxing  trick,  desiring  to  put  an 
end  to  the  interminable  riot  and  to  cut  his  way  home  through 
the  crowd,  gave  one  of  the  noisiest  shouters  a  blow  with  his 
fist  between  the  eyes,  laying  him  senseless  on  the  ground, 
though  without  seriously  injuring  him.  And  this  it  was  that 
so  speedily  broke  up  the  whole  throng.  Within  little  more 
than  a  minute  of  the  most  violent  uproar  of  hundreds  of  human 
voices,  my  brother-in-law  and  I  were  able  to  stroll  arm-in-arm 
through  the  moonlit  streets,  quietly  jesting  and  laughing,  on 
our  way  home;  and  then  it  was  that,  to  my  amazement  and 
relief,  he  informed  me  that  he  was  accustomed  to  this  sort  of 
life  every  evening. 

At  last,  however,  it  became  necessary  seriously  to  attend 
to  the  purpose  of  my  journey.  Only  in  passing  did  I  touch  at 
Wiirzburg  for  a  day.  I  remember  nothing  of  the  meeting 
with  my  relations  and  acquaintance  beyond  the  melancholy 
visit  to  Friederike  Galvani  already  mentioned.  On  reaching 
Frankfort  I  was  obliged  to  seek  at  once  the  shelter  of  a  decent 
hotel,  in  order  to  await  there  the  result  of  my  solicitations  for 
subsidies  from  the  directorate  of  the  Magdeburg  theatre.  My 
hopes  of  securing  the  real  stars  of  our  operatic  undertaking 
were  formed  with  a  view  to  a  season  at  Wiesbaden,  where,  I 
was  told,  a  good  operatic  company  was  on  the  point  of  dis- 
solution. I  found  it  extremely  difficult  to  arrange  the  short 
journey  thither;  yet  I  managed  to  be  present  at  a  rehearsal 
of  Robert  der  Teufel,  in  which  the  tenor  Freimiiller  distin- 
guished himself.  I  interviewed  him  at  once,  and  found  him 
willing  to  entertain  my  proposals  for  Magdeburg.  We  con- 
cluded the  necessary  agreement,  and  I  then  returned  with  all 
speed  to  my  headquarters,  the  Weidenbusch  Hotel  in  Frankfort. 
There  I  had  to  spend  another  anxious  week,  during  which  I 


DIFFICULTIES    IN   FRANKFORT  133 

waited  in  vain  for  the  necessary  travelling  expenses  to  arrive 
from  Magdeburg.  To  kill  time  I  had  recourse,  among  other 
things,  to  a  large  red  pocket-book  which  I  carried  about  with  me 
in  my  portmanteau,  and  in  which  I  entered,  with  exact  details 
of  dates,  etc.,  notes^for  my  future  biography  —  the  selfsame 
book  which  now  lies  before  me  to  freshen  my  memory,  and 
which  I  have  ever  since  added  to  at  various  periods  of  my 
life,  without  leaving  any  gaps.  Through  the  neglect  of  the 
Magdeburg  managers  my  situation,  which  was  already  serious, 
became  literally  desperate,  when  I  made  an  acquisition  in 
Frankfort  which  gave  me  almost  more  pleasure  than  I  was  able 
to  bear.  I  had  been  present  at  a  production  of  the  Zauberflote 
under  the  direction  of  Guhr,  then  wonderfully  renowned  as  '  a 
conductor  of  genius/  and  was  agreeably  surprised  at  the  truly 
excellent  quality  of  the  company.  It  was,  of  course,  useless  to 
think  of  luring  one  of  the  leading  stars  into  my  net;  on  the 
other  hand,  I  saw  clearly  enough  that  the  youthful  Fraulein. 
Limbach,  who  sang  the  l  first  boy's '  part,  possessed  a  desirable 
talent.  She  accepted  my  offer  of  an  engagement,  and,  indeed, 
seemed  so  anxious  to  be  rid  of  her  Frankfort  engagement  that 
she  resolved  to  escape  from  it  surreptitiously.  She  revealed 
her  plans  to  me,  and  begged  me  to  assist  her  in  carrying  them 
out ;  for,  inasmuch  as  the  directors  might  get  wind  of  the  affair, 
there  was  no  time  to  lose.  At  all  events,  the  young  lady  as- 
sumed that  I  had  abundant  credit,  supplied  for  my  official 
business  journey  by  the  Magdeburg  theatre  committee,  whose 
praises  I  had  so  diligently  sung.  But  already  I  had  been  com- 
pelled to  pledge  my  scanty  travelling  gear  in  order  to  provide 
for  my  own  departure.  To  this  point  I  had  persuaded  the  host, 
but  now  found  him  by  no  means  inclined  to  advance  me  the 
additional  funds  needed  for  carrying  off  a  young  singer.  To 
cloak  the  bad  behaviour  of  my  directors  I  was  compelled  to  in- 
vent some  tale  of  misfortune,  and  to  leave  the  astonished  and 
indignant  young  lady  behind.  Heartily  ashamed  of  this  ad- 
venture, I  travelled  through  rain  and  storm  via  Leipzig,  where 
I  picked  up  my  brown  poodle,  and  reaching  Magdeburg, 
there  resumed  my  work  as  musical  director  on  the  1st  of 
September. 

The  result  of  my  business  labours  gave  me  but  little  joy. 


134  MY   LIFE 

The  director,  it  is  true,  proved  triumphantly  that  he  had  sent 
five  whole  golden  louis  to  my  address  in  Frankfort,  and  that 
my  tenor  and  the  youthful  lady-singer  had  also  been  provided 
with  proper  contracts,  but  not  with  the  fares  and  advances 
demanded.  Neither  of  them  came;  only  the  basso  Graf  ar- 
rived with  pedantic  punctuality  from  Karlsbad,  and  immedi- 
ately provoked  the  chaff  of  our  theatrical  wags.  He  sang  at 
a  rehearsal  of  the  Schweizerfamilie  with  such  a  schoolmasterly 
drone  that  I  completely  lost  my  composure.  The  arrival  of 
my  excellent  brother-in-law  Wolfram  with  my  sister  Clara  was 
of  more  advantage  for  musical  comedy  than  for  grand  opera, 
and  caused  me  considerable  trouble  into  the  bargain;  for, 
being  honest  folk  and  used  to  decent  living,  they  speedily  per- 
ceived that,  in  spite  of  royal  protection,  the  condition  of  the 
theatre  was  but  very  insecure,  as  was  natural  under  so  un- 
scrupulous a  management  as  that  of  Bethmann,  and  recog- 
nised with  alarm  that  they  had  seriously  compromised  their 
family  position.  My  courage  had  already  begun  to  sink  when 
a  happy  chance  brought  us  a  young  woman,  Mme.  Pollert 
(nee  Zeibig),  who  was  passing  through  Magdeburg  with  her 
husband,  an  actor,  in  order  to  fulfil  a  special  engagement  in 
that  town ;  she  was  gifted  with  a  beautiful  voice,  was  a  talented 
singer,  and  well  suited  for  the  chief  roles.  Necessity  had  at 
last  driven  the  directors  to  action,  and  at  the  eleventh  hour 
they  sent  for  the  tenor  Freimiiller.  But  I  was  particularly 
gratified  when  the  love  which  had  arisen  between  him  and 
young  Limbach  in  Frankfort  enabled  the  enterprising  tenor  to 
carry  away  this  singer,  to  whom  I  had  behaved  so  miserably. 
Both  arrived  radiant  with  joy.  Along  with  them  we  engaged 
Mme.  Pollert,  who,  in  spite  of  her  pretentiousness,  met  with 
favour  from  the  public.  A  well-trained  and  musically  com- 
petent baritone,  Herr  Krug,  afterwards  the  conductor  of  a 
choir  in  Karlsruhe,  had  also  been  discovered,  so  that  all  at  once 
I  stood  at  the  head  of  a  really  good  operatic  company,  among 
which  the  basso  Graf  could  be  fitted  in  only  with  great  diffi- 
culty, by  being  kept  as  much  as  possible  in  the  background. 
We  succeeded  quickly  with  a  series  of  operatic  performances 
which  were  by  no  means  ordinary,  and  our  repertory  included 
everything  of  this  nature  that  had  ever  been  written  for  the 


BELLINI'S    <NORMA»  135 

theatre.  I  was  particularly  pleased  with  the  presentation  of 
Spohr's  Jessonda,  which  was  truly  not  without  sublimity,  and 
raised  us  high  in  the  esteem  of  all  cultured  lovers  of  music.  I 
was  untiring  in  my  endeavours  to  discover  some  means  of  ele- 
vating our  performances  above  the  usual  level  of  excellence 
compatible  with  the  meagre  resources  of  provincial  theatres. 
I  persistently  fell  foul  of  the  director  Bethmann  by  strengthen- 
ing my  orchestra,  which  he  had  to  pay ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  won  his  complete  goodwill  by  strengthening  the  chorus  and 
the  theatre  music,  which  cost  him  nothing,  and  which  lent  such 
splendour  to  our  presentations  that  subscriptions  and  audiences 
increased  enormously.  For  instance,  I  secured  the  regimental 
band,  and  also  the  military  singers,  who  in  the  Prussian  army 
are  admirably  organised,  and  wTho  assisted  in  our  performances 
in  return  for  free  passes  to  the  gallery  granted  to  their  relatives. 
Thus  I  managed  to  furnish  with  the  utmost  completeness  the 
specially  strong  orchestral  accompaniment  demanded  by  the 
score  of  Bellini's  Norma,  and  was  able  to  dispose  of  a  body  of 
male  voices  for  the  impressive  unison  portion  of  the  male  chorus 
in  the  introduction  of  that  work  such  as  even  the  greatest 
theatres  could  rarely  command.  In  later  years  I  was  able  to 
assure  Auber,  whom  I  often  met  over  an  ice  in  Tortoni's  cafe 
in  Paris,  that  in  his  Lestocq  I  had  been  able  to  render  the  part 
of  the  mutinous  soldiery,  when  seduced  into  conspiracy,  with  an 
absolutely  full  number  of  voices,  a  fact  for  which  he  thanked 
me  with  astonishment  and  delight. 

Amid  such  circumstances  of  encouragement  the  composition 
of  my  Liebesverbot  made  rapid  strides  towards  completion. 
I  intended  the  presentation  of  this  piece  for  the  benefit 
performance  which  had  been  promised  me  as  a  means  of 
defraying  my  expenses,  and  I  worked  hard  in  the  hope  of 
improving  my  reputation,  and  at  the  same  time  of  accomplish- 
ing something  by  no  means  less  desirable,  and  that  was  the 
betterment  of  my  financial  position.  Even  the  few  hours 
which  I  could  snatch  from  business  to  spend  at  Minna's  side 
were  devoted  with  unexampled  zeal  to  the  completion  of  my  £r 
score.  My  diligence  moved  even  Minna's  mother,  who  looked 
with  some  uneasiness  upon  our  love  affair.  She  had  remained 
over  the  summer  on  a  visit  to  her  daughter,  and  managed 


136  MY   LIFE 

the  house  for  her.  Owing  to  her  interference  a  new  and 
urgent  anxiety  had  entered  into  our  relations,  which  pressed  for 
serious  settlement.  It  was  natural  that  we  should  begin  to 
think  of  what  it  was  all  going  to  lead  to.  I  must  confess  that 
the  idea  of  marriage,  especially  in  view  of  my  youth,  filled  me 
with  dismay,  and  without  indeed  reflecting  on  the  matter,  or 
seriously  weighing  its  pros  and  cons,  a  naive  and  instinctive 
feeling  prevented  me  even  from  considering  the  possibility  of  a 
step  which  would  have  such  serious  consequences  upon  my  whole 
life.  Moreover,  our  modest  circumstances  were  in  so  alarming 
and  uncertain  a  state  that  even  Minna  declared  that  she  was 
more  anxious  to  see  these  improved  than  to  get  me  to  marry  her. 
But  she  was  also  driven  to  think  of  herself,  and  that  promptly, 
for  trouble  arose  with  regard  to  her  own  position  in  the  Magde- 
burg theatre.  There  she  had  met  with  a  rival  in  her  own 
speciality,  and  as  this  woman's  husband  became  chief  stage 
manager,  and  consequently  had  supreme  power,  she  grew  to  be 
a  source  of  great  danger.  Seeing,  therefore,  that  at  this  very 
moment  Minna  received  advantageous  offers  from  the  man- 
agers of  the  Konigstadt  theatre  in  Berlin,  then  doing  a  splendid 
business,  she  seized  the  opportunity  to  break  off  her  connection 
with  the  Magdeburg  theatre,  and  thus  plunged  me,  whom  she 
did  not  appear  to  consider  in  the  matter,  into  the  depths  of 
despair.  I  could  not  hinder  Minna  from  going  to  Berlin  to 
fulfil  a  special  engagement  there,  although  this  was  not  in 
accordance  with  her  agreement,  and  so  she  departed,  leaving 
me  behind,  overcome  with  grief  and  doubt  as  to  the  meaning 
of  her  conduct.  At  last,  mad  with  passion,  I  wrote  to  her 
urging  her  to  return,  and  the  better  to  move  her  and  not  to 
separate  her  fate  from  my  own,  I  proposed  to  her  in  a  strictly 
formal  manner,  and  hinted  at  the  hope  of  early  marriage. 
About  the  same  time  my  brother-in-law,  Wolfram,  having 
quarrelled  with  the  director  Bethmann  and  cancelled  his 
contract  with  him,  also  went  to  the  Konigstadt  theatre  to 
fulfil  a  special  engagement.  My  good  sister  Clara,  who  had 
remained  behind  for  a  while  amid  the  somewhat  unpleasant 
conditions  of  Magdeburg,  soon  perceived  the  anxious  and 
troubled  temper  in  which  her  otherwise  cheerful  brother  was 
rapidly  consuming  himself.  One  day  the  thought  it  advisable 


MINNA   IN    BERLIN  137 

to  show  me  a  letter  from  her  husband,  with  news  from  Berlin, 
and  especially  concerning  Minna,  in  which  he  earnestly  deplored 
my  passion  for  this  girl,  who  was  acting  quite  unworthily  of  me. 
As  she  lodged  at  his  hotel,  he  was  able  to  observe  that  not  only 
the  company  she  kept,  but  also  her  own  conduct,  were  perfectly 
scandalous.  The  extraordinary  impression  which  this  dreadful 
communication  made  upon  me  decided  me  to  abandon  the  re- 
serve I  had  hitherto  shown  towards  my  relatives  with  regard 
to  my  love  affairs.  I  wrote  to  my  brother-in-law  in  Berlin, 
telling  him  how  matters  stood  with  me,  and  that  my  plans 
greatly  depended  on  Minna,  and  further,  how  extremely  im- 
portant it  was  for  me  to  learn  from  him  the  indubitable  truth 
concerning  her  of  whom  he  had  sent  so  evil  an  account.  From 
my  brother-in-law,  usually  so  dry  and  given  to  joking,  I  re- 
ceived a  reply  which  filled  my  heart  to  overflowing  again.  He 
confessed  that  he  had  accused  Minna  too  hastily,  and  regretted 
that  he  had  allowed  idle  chatter  to  influence  him  in  founding 
a  charge,  which,  on  investigation,  had  proved  to  be  altogether 
groundless  and  unjust;  he  declared,  moreover,  that  on  nearer 
acquaintance  and  conversation  with  her  he  had  been  so  fully 
convinced  of  the  genuineness  and  uprightness  of  her  char- 
acter, that  he  hoped  with  all  his  heart  that  I  might  see  my 
way  to  marry  her.  And  now  a  storm  raged  in  my  heart.  I 
implored  Minna  to  return  at  once,  and  was  glad  to  learn  that, 
for  her  part,  she  was  not  inclined  to  renew  her  engagement  at 
the  Berlin  theatre,  as  she  had  now  acquired  a  more  intimate 
knowledge  of  the  life  there,  and  found  it  too  frivolous.  All 
that  remained,  then,  was  for  me  to  facilitate  the  resumption  of 
her  Magdeburg  engagement.  To  this  end,  therefore,  at  a  meet- 
ing of  the  theatre  committee,  I  attacked  the  director  and  his 
detested  stage  manager  with  such  energy,  and  defended  Minna 
against  the  wrong  done  her  by  them  both  with  such  passion 
and  fervour,  that  the  other  members,  astonished  at  the  frank 
confession  of  my  affection,  yielded  to  my  wishes  without  any 
further  ado.  And  now  I  set  off  by  extra  post  in  the  depth 
of  night  and  in  dreadful  winter  weather  to  meet  my  returning 
sweetheart.  I  greeted  her  with  tears  of  deepest  joy,  and  led 
her  back  in  triumph  to  her  cosy  Magdeburg  home,  already  be- 
come so  dear  to  me. 


138  MY   LIFE 

Meanwhile,  as  our  two  lives,  thus  severed  for  a  while,  were 
being  drawn  more  and  more  closely  together,  I  finished  the 
score  of  my  Liebesverbot  about  New  Year  1836.  For  the  de- 
velopment of  my  future  plans  I  depended  not  a  little  upon 
the  success  of  this  work;  and  Minna  herself  seemed  not  dis- 
inclined to  yield  to  my  hopes  in  this  respect.  We  had  reason 
to  be  concerned  as  to  how  matters  would  pan  out  for  us  at  the 
beginning  of  the  spring,  for  this  season  is  always  a  bad  one 
in  which  to  start  such  precarious  theatrical  enterprises.  In 
spite  of  royal  support  and  the  participation  of  the  theatre 
committee  in  the  general  management  of  the  theatre,  our 
worthy  director's  state  of  perennial  bankruptcy  suffered  no 
alteration,  and  it  seemed  as  if  his  theatrical  undertaking  could 
not  possibly  last  much  longer  in  any  form.  Nevertheless,  with 
the  help  of  the  really  first-rate  company  of  singers  at  my  dis- 
posal, the  production  of  my  opera  was  to  mark  a  complete 
change  in  my  unsatisfactory  circumstances.  With  the  view 
of  recovering  the  travelling  expenses  I  had  incurred  during 
the  previous  summer,  I  was  entitled  to  a  benefit  performance. 
I  naturally  fixed  this  for  the  presentation  of  my  own  work, 
and  did  my  utmost  so  that  this  favour  granted  me  by  the 
directors  should  prove  as  inexpensive  to  them  as  possible.  As 
they  would  nevertheless  be  compelled  to  incur  some  expense 
in  the  production  of  the  new  opera,  I  agreed  that  the  proceeds 
of  the  first  presentation  should  be  left  to  them,  while  I  should 
claim  only  those  of  the  second.  I  did  not  consider  it  alto- 
gether unsatisfactory  that  the  time  for  the  rehearsals  was  post- 
poned until  the  very  end  of  the  season,  for  it  was  reason- 
able to  suppose  that  our  company,  which  was  often  greeted 
with  unusual  applause,  would  receive  special  attention  and 
favour  from  the  public  during  its  concluding  performances. 
Unfortunately,  however,  contrary  to  our  expectations,  we  never 
reached  the  proper  close  of  this  season,  which  had  been  fixed 
for  the  end  of  April;  for  already  in  March,  owing  to  irregu- 
larity in  the  payment  of  salaries,  the  most  popular  members 
of  the  company,  having  found  better  employment  elsewhere, 
tendered  their  resignations  to  the  management,  and  the  direc- 
tor, who  was  unable  to  raise  the  necessary  cash,  was  com- 
pelled to  bow  to  the  inevitable.  Now,  indeed,  my  spirits  sank, 


'  LIEBESVERBOT '  139 

for  it  seemed  more  than  doubtful  whether  my  Liebesverbot 
would  ever  be  produced  at  all.  I  owed  it  entirely  to  the  warm 
affection  felt  for  me  personally  by  all  members  of  the  opera 
company,  that  the  singers  consented  not  only  to  remain  until 
the  end  of  March,  but  also  to  undertake  the  toil  of  study- 
ing and  rehearsing  my  opera,  a  task  which,  considering  the 
very  limited  time,  promised  to  be  extremely  arduous.  In 
the  event  of  our  having  to  give  two  representations,  the  time 
at  our  disposal  was  so  very  short  that,  for  all  the  rehearsals, 
we  had  but  ten  days  before  us.  And  since  we  were  con- 
cerned not  with  a  light  comedy  or  farce,  but  with  a  grand 
opera,  and  one  which,  in  spite  of  the  trifling  character  of 
its  music,  contained  numerous  and  powerful  concerted  pas- 
sages, the  undertaking  might  have  been  regarded  almost  as 
foolhardy.  Nevertheless,  I  built  my  hopes  upon  the  extra- 
ordinary exertions  which  the  singers  so  willingly  made  in 
order  to  please  me;  for  they  studied  continuously,  morning, 
noon,  and  night.  But  seeing  that,  in  spite  of  all  this,  it  was 
quite  impossible  to  attain  to  perfection,  especially  in  the 
matter  of  words,  in  the  case  of  every  one  of  these  harassed 
performers,  I  reckoned  further  on  my  own  acquired  skill  as 
conductor  to  achieve  the  final  miracle  of  success.  The  pecu- 
liar ability  I  possessed  of  helping  the  singers  and  of  making 
them,  in  spite  of  much  uncertainty,  seem  to  flow  smoothly 
onwards,  was  clearly  demonstrated  in  our  orchestral  rehearsals, 
in  which,  by  dint  of  constant  prompting,  loud  singing  with  the 
performers  and  vigorous  directions  as  to  necessary  action,  I 
got  the  whole  thing  to  run  so  easily  that  it  seemed  quite  pos- 
sible that  the  performance  might  be  a  reasonable  success  after 
all.  Unfortunately,  we  did  not  consider  that  in  front  of  the 
public  all  these  drastic  methods  of  moving  the  dramatic  and 
musical  machinery  would  be  restricted  to  the  movements  of 
my  baton  and  to  my  facial  expression.  As  a  matter  of  fact 
the  singers,  and  especially  the  men,  were  so  extraordinarily 
uncertain  that  from  beginning  to  end  their  embarrassment 
crippled  the  effectiveness  of  every  one  of  their  parts.  Frei- 
muller,  the  tenor,  whose  memory  was  most  defective,  sought 
to  patch  up  the  lively  and  emotional  character  of  his  badly 
learned  role  of  the  madcap  Luzio  by  means  of  routine  work 


140  MY   LIFE 

learned  in  Fra  Diavolo  and  Zampa,  and  especially  by  the  aid 
of  an  enormously  thick,  brightly  coloured  and  fluttering  plume 
of  feathers.  Consequently,  as  the  directors  failed  to  have  the 
book  of  words  printed  in  time,  it  was  impossible  to  blame  the 
public  for  being  in  doubt  as  to  the  main  outlines  of  the  story, 
seeing  that  they  had  only  the  sung  words  to  guide  them.  With 
the  exception  of  a  few  portions  played  by  the  lady  singers, 
which  were  favourably  received,  the  whole  performance,  which 
I  had  made  to  depend  largely  upon  bold,  energetic  action 
and  speech,  remained  but  a  musical  shadow-play,  to  which 
the  orchestra  contributed  its  own  inexplicable  effusions,  some- 
times with  exaggerated  noise.  As  characteristic  of  the  treat*- 
ment  of  my  tone-colour,  I  may  mention  that  the  band-master 
of  a  Prussian  military  band,  who,  by  the  bye,  had  been  well 
pleased  with  the  performance,  felt  it  incumbent  upon  him  to 
give  me  some  well-meant  hints  for  my  future  guidance,  as  to 
the  manipulation  of  the  Turkish  drum.  Before  I  relate  the 
further  history  of  this  wonderful  work  of  my  youth,  I  will 
pause  a  moment  briefly  to  describe  its  character,  and  especially 
its  poetical  elements. 

Shakespeare's  play,  which  I  kept  throughout  in  mind  as  the 
foundation  of  my  story,  was  worked  out  in  the  following 
manner :  — 

An  unnamed  king  of  Sicily  leaves  his  country,  as  I  suggest, 
for  a  journey  to  Naples,  and  hands  over  to  the  Regent  ap- 
pointed —  whom  I  simply  call  Friedrich,  with  the  view  of 
making  him  appear  as  German  as  possible  —  full  authority  to 
exercise  all  the  royal  power  in  order  to  effect  a  complete  re- 
form in  the  social  habits  of  his  capital,  which  had  provoked 
the  indignation  of  the  Council.  At  the  opening  of  the  play 
we  see  the  servants  of  the  public  authority  busily  employed 
either  in  shutting  up  or  in  pulling  down  the  houses  of  popular 
amusement  in  a  suburb  of  Palermo,  and  in  carrying  off  the 
inmates,  including  hosts  and  servants,  as  prisoners.  The  popu- 
lace oppose  this  first  step,  and  much  scuffling  ensues.  In 
the  thickest  of  the  throng  the  chief  of  the  sbirri,  Brighella 
(basso-buffo),  after  a  preliminary  roll  of  drums  for  silence, 
reads  out  the  Regent's  proclamation,  according  to  which  the  acts 
just  performed  are  declared  to  be  directed  towards  establishing 


'  LIEBESVEEBOT '  141 

a  higher  moral  tone  in  the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people. 
A  general  outburst  of  scorn  and  a  mocking  chorus  meets  this 
announcement.  Luzio,  a  young  nobleman  and  juvenile  scape- 
grace (tenor),  seems  inclined  to  thrust  himself  forward  as 
leader  of  the  mob,  and  at  once  finds  an  occasion  for  playing 
a  more  active  part  in  the  cause  of  the  oppressed  people  on 
discovering  his  friend  Claudio  (also  a  tenor)  being  led  away 
to  prison.  From  him  he  learns  that,  in  pursuance  of  some 
musty  old  law  unearthed  by  Friedrich,  he  is  to  suffer  the 
penalty  of  death  for  a  certain  love  escapade  in  which  he  is 
involved.  His  sweetheart,  union  with  whom  had  been  pre- 
vented by  the  enmity  of  their  parents,  has  borne  him  a  child. 
Friedrich's  puritanical  zeal  joins  cause  with  the  parents' 
hatred;  he  fears  the  worst,  and  sees  no  way  of  escape  save 
through  mercy,  provided  his  sister  Isabella  may  be  able,  by 
her  entreaties,  to  melt  the  Regent's  hard  heart.  Claudio  im- 
plores his  friend  at  once  to  seek  out  Isabella  in  the  convent  of 
the  Sisters  of  St.  Elizabeth,  which  she  has  recently  entered  as 
novice.  There,  between  the  quiet  walls  of  the  convent,  we  first 
meet  this  sister,  in  confidential  intercourse  with  her  friend 
Marianne,  also  a  novice.  Marianne  reveals  to  her  friend,  from 
whom  she  has  long  been  parted,  the  unhappy  fate  which  has 
brought  her  to  the  place.  Under  vows  of  eternal  fidelity  she  had 
been  persuaded  to  a  secret  liaison  with  a  man  of  high  rank. 
But  finally,  when  in  extreme  need  she  found  herself  not  only 
forsaken,  but  threatened  by  her  betrayer,  she  discovered  him 
to  be  the  mightiest  man  in  the  state,  none  other  than  the 
King's  Regent  himself.  Isabella's  indignation  finds  vent  in 
impassioned  words,  and  is  only  pacified  by  her  determination 
to  forsake  a  world  in  which  so  vile  a  crime  can  go  unpunished. 
—  When  now  Luzio  brings  her  tidings  of  her  own  brother's 
fate,  her  disgust  at  her  brother's  misconduct  is  turned  at  once 
to  scorn  for  the  villainy  of  the  hypocritical  Regent,  who  pre- 
sumes so  cruelly  to  punish  the  comparatively  venial  offence 
of  her  brother,  which,  at  least,  was  not  stained  by  treachery. 
Her  violent  outburst  imprudently  reveals  her  to  Luzio  in  a 
seductive  aspect;  smitten  with  sudden  love,  he  urges  her  to 
quit  the  convent  for  ever  and  to  accept  his  hand.  She  con- 
trives to  check  his  boldness,  but  resolves  at  once  to  avail  herself 


142  MY   LIFE 

of  his  escort  to  the  Regent's  court  of  justice.  —  Here  the  trial 
scene  is  prepared,  and  I  introduce  it  by  a  burlesque  hearing 
of  several  persons  charged  by  the  sbirro  captain  with  offences 
against  morality.  The  earnestness  of  the  situation  becomes 
more  marked  when  the  gloomy  form  of  Friedrich  strides 
through  the  inrushing  and  unruly  crowd,  commanding  silence, 
and  he  himself  undertakes  the  hearing  of  Claudio's  case  in  the 
sternest  manner  possible.  The  implacable  judge  is  already  on 
the  point  of  pronouncing  sentence  when  Isabella  enters,  and 
requests,  before  them  all,  a  private  interview  with  the  Regent. 
In  this  interview  she  behaves  with  noble  moderation  towards 
the  dreaded,  yet  despised  man  before  her,  and  appeals  at  first 
only  to  his  mildness  and  mercy.  His  interruptions  merely 
serve  to  stimulate  her  ardour:  she  speaks  of  her  brother's 
offence  in  melting  accents,  and  implores  forgiveness  for  so 
human  and  by  no  means  unpardonable  a  crime.  Seeing  the 
effect  of  her  moving  appeal,  she  continues  with  increasing 
ardour  to  plead  with  the  judge's  hard  and  unresponsive  heart, 
which  can  certainly  not  have  remained  untouched  by  senti- 
ments such  as  those  which  had  actuated  her  brother,  and  she 
calls  upon  his  memory  of  these  to  support  her  desperate  plea 
for  pity.  At  last  the  ice  of  his  heart  is  broken.  Friedrich, 
deeply  stirred  by  Isabella's  beauty,  can  no  longer  contain 
himself,  and  promises  to  grant  her  petition  at  the  price  of  her 
own  love.  Scarcely  has  she  become  aware  of  the  unexpected 
effect  of  her  words  when,  filled  with  indignation  at  such  incred- 
ible villainy,  she  cries  to  the  people  through  doors  and  windows 
to  come  in,  that  she  may  unmask  the  hypocrite  before  the  world. 
The  crowd  is  already  rushing  tumultuously  into  the  hall  of 
judgment,  when,  by  a  few  significant  hints,  Friedrich,  with 
frantic  energy,  succeeds  in  making  Isabella  realise  the  impossi- 
bility of  her  plan.  He  would  simply  deny  her  charge,  boldly 
pretend  that  his  offer  was  merely  made  to  test  her,  and  would 
doubtless  be  readily  believed  so  soon  as  it  became  only  a 
question  of  rebutting  a  charge  of  lightly  making  love  to  her. 
Isabella,  ashamed  and  confounded,  recognises  the  madness  of 
her  first  step,  and  gnashes  her  teeth  in  silent  despair.  While 
then  Friedrich  once  more  announces  his  stern  resolve  to  the 
people,  and  pronounces  sentence  on  the  prisoner,  it  suddenly 


'  LIEBESVERBOT '  143 

occurs  to  Isabella,  spurred  by  the  painful  recollection  of 
Marianne's  fate,  that  what  she  has  failed  to  procure  by  open 
means  she  might  possibly  obtain  by  craft.  This  thought  suf- 
fices to  dispel  her  sorrow,  and  to  fill  her  with  utmost  gaiety. 
Turning  to  her  sorrowing  brother,  her  agitated  friends,  and 
the  perplexed  crowd,  she  assures  them  all  that  she  is  ready 
to  provide  them  with  the  most  amusing  of  adventures.  She 
declares  that  the  carnival  festivities,  which  the  Regent  has  just 
strictly  forbidden,  are  to  be  celebrated  this  year  with  unusual 
licence;  for  this  dreaded  ruler  only  pretends  to  be  so  cruel, 
in  order  the  more  pleasantly  to  astonish  them  by  himself  taking 
a  merry  part  in  all  that  he  has  just  forbidden.  They  all  be- 
lieve that  she  has  gone  mad,  and  Friedrich  in  particular  re- 
proves her  incomprehensible  folly  with  passionate  severity. 
But  a  few  words  on  her  part  suffice  to  transport  the  Regent 
himself  with  ecstasy;  for  in  a  whisper  she  promises  to  grant 
his  desire,  and  that  on  the  following  night  she  will  send  him 
such  a  message  as  shall  ensure  his  happiness.  —  And  so  ends  the 
first  act  in  a  whirl  of  excitement. 

We  learn  the  nature  of  the  heroine's  hastily  formed  plan  at 
the  beginning  of  the  second  act,  in  which  she  visits  her  brother 
in  his  cell,  with  the  object  of  discovering  whether  he  is  worthy 
of  rescue.  She  reveals  Friedrich's  shameful  proposal  to  him, 
and  asks  if  he  would  wish  to  save  his  life  at  the  price  of  his 
sister's  dishonour.  Then  follow  Claudio's  fury  and  fervent 
declaration  of  his  readiness  to  die ;  whereupon,  bidding  farewell 
to  his  sister,  at  least  for  this  life,  he  makes  her  the  bearer  of 
the  most  tender  messages  to  the  dear  girl  whom  he  leaves  behind. 
After  this,  sinking  into  a  softer  mood,  the  unhappy  man  declines 
from  a  state  of  melancholy  to  one  of  weakness.  Isabella,  who 
had  already  determined  to  inform  him  of  his  rescue,  hesitates 
in  dismay  when  she  sees  him  fall  in  this  way  from  the  heights 
of  noble  enthusiasm  to  a  muttered  confession  of  a  love  of  life 
still  as  strong  as  ever,  and  even  to  a  stammering  query  as 
to  whether  the  suggested  price  of  his  salvation  is  altogether 
impossible.  Disgusted,  she  springs  to  her  feet,  thrusts  the 
unworthy  man  from  her,  and  declares  that  to  the  shame  of  his 
death  he  has  further  added  her  most  hearty  contempt.  After 
having  handed  him  over  again  to  his  gaoler,  her  mood  once 


144  MY  LIFE 

more  changes  swiftly  to  one  of  wanton  gaiety.  True,  she 
resolves  to  punish  the  waverer  by  leaving  him  for  a  time  in 
uncertainty  as  to  his  fate;  but  stands  firm  by  her  resolve 
to  rid  the  world  of  the  abominable  seducer  who  dared  to  dic- 
tate laws  to  his  fellow-men.  She  tells  Marianne  that  she 
must  take  her  place  at  the  nocturnal  rendezvous,  at  which 
Friedrich  so  treacherously  expected  to  meet  her  (Isabella),  and 
sends  Friedrich  an  invitation  to  this  meeting.  In  order  to 
entangle  the  latter  even  more  deeply  in  ruin,  she  stipulates  that 
he  must  come  disguised  and  masked,  and  fixes  the  rendezvous 
in  one  of  those  pleasure  resorts  which  he  has  just  suppressed. 
To  the  madcap  Luzio,  whom  she  also  desires  to  punish  for  his 
saucy  suggestion  to  a  novice,  she  relates  the  story  of  Friedrich's 
proposal,  and  her  pretended  intention  of  complying,  from 
sheer  necessity,  with  his  desires.  This  she  does  in  a  fashion 
so  incomprehensively  light-hearted  that  the  otherwise  frivolous 
man,  first  dumb  with  amazement,  ultimately  yields  to  a  fit  of 
desperate  rage.  He  swears  that,  even  if  the  noble  maiden 
herself  can  endure  such  shame,  he  will  himself  strive  by  every 
means  in  his  power  to  avert  it,  and  would  prefer  to  set  all 
Palermo  on  fire  and  in  tumult  rather  than  allow  such  a  thing 
to  happen.  And,  indeed,  he  arranges  things  in  such  a  manner 
that  on  the  appointed  evening  all  his  friends  and  acquaintances 
assemble  at  the  end  of  the  Corso,  as  though  for  the  opening  of 
the  prohibited  carnival  procession.  At  nightfall,  as  things  are 
beginning  to  grow  wild  and  merry,  Luzio  appears,  and  sings 
an  extravagant  carnival  song,  with  the  refrain: 

Who  joins  us  not  in  frolic  jest 
Shall  have  a  dagger  in  his  breast; 

by  which  means  he  seeks  to  stir  the  crowd  to  bloody  revolt. 
When  a  band  of  sbirri  approaches,  under  Brighella's  leadership, 
to  scatter  the  gay  throng,  the  mutinous  project  seems  on  the 
point  of  being  accomplished.  But  for  the  present  Luzio  pre- 
fers to  yield,  and  to  scatter  about  the  neighbourhood,  as  he 
must  first  of  all  win  the  real  leader  of  their  enterprise:  for 
here  was  the  spot  which  Isabella  had  mischievously  revealed 
to  him  as  the  place  of  her  pretended  meeting  with  the  Regent. 
For  the  latter  Luzio  therefore  lies  in  wait.  Recognising  him 


<  LIEBESVERBOT '  145 

in  an  elaborate  disguise,  he  blocks  his  way,  and  as  Friedrich 
violently  breaks  loose,  is  on  the  point  of  following  him  with 
shouts  and  drawn  sword,  when,  on  a  sign  from  Isabella,  who  is 
hidden  among  some  bushes,  he  is  himself  stopped  and  led  away. 
Isabella  then  advances,  rejoicing  in  the  thought  of  having 
restored  the  betrayed  Marianne  to  her  faithless  spouse.  Believ- 
ing that  she  holds  in  her  hand  the  promised  pardon  for  her 
brother,  she  is  just  on  the  point  of  abandoning  all  thought  of 
further  vengeance  when,  breaking  the  seal,  to  her  intense  horror 
she  recognises  by  the  light  of  a  torch  that  the  paper  contains 
but  a  still  more  severe  order  of  execution,  which,  owing  to 
her  desire  not  to  disclose  to  her  brother  the  fact  of  his  pardon, 
a  mere  chance  had  now  delivered  into  her  hand,  through  the 
agency  of  the  bribed  gaoler.  After  a  hard  fight  with  the 
tempestuous  passion  of  love,  and  recognising  his  helplessness 
against  this  enemy  of  his  peace,  Friedrich  has  in  fact  already 
resolved  to  face  his  ruin,  even  though  as  a  criminal,  yet  still 
as  a  man  of  honour.  An  hour  on  Isabella's  breast,  and  then  — 
his  own  death  by  the  same  law  whose  implacable  severity  shall 
also  claim  Claudio's  life.  Isabella,  perceiving  in  this  conduct 
only  a  further  proof  of  the  hypocrite's  villainy,  breaks  out  once 
more  into  a  tempest  of  agonised  despair.  Upon  her  cry  for 
immediate  revolt  against  the  scoundrelly  tyrant,  the  people 
collect  together  and  form  a  motley  and  passionate  crowd. 
Luzio,  who  also  returns,  counsels  the  people  with  stinging 
bitterness  to  pay  no  heed  to  the  woman's  fury;  he  points  out 
that  she  is  only  tricking  them,  as  she  has  already  tricked  him 
—  for  he  still  believes  in  her  shameless  infidelity.  Fresh  con- 
fusion ;  increased  despair  of  Isabella ;  suddenly  from  the  back- 
ground comes  the  burlesque  cry  of  Brighella  for  help,  who, 
himself  suffering  from  the  pangs  of  jealousy,  has  by  mistake 
arrested  the  masked  Regent,  and  thus  led  to  the  latter's  dis- 
covery. Friedrich  is  recognised,  and  Marianne,  trembling  on 
his  breast,  is  also  unmasked.  Amazement,  indignation!  Cries 
of  joy  burst  forth  all  round;  the  needful  explanations  are 
quickly  given,  and  Friedrich  sullenly  demands  to  be  set  before 
the  judgment-seat  of  the  returning  King.  Claudio,  released 
from  prison  by  the  jubilant  populace,  informs  him  that  the 
sentence  of  death  for  crimes  of  love  is  not  intended  for  all 


146  MY   LIFE 

times;  messengers  arrive  to  announce  the  unexpected  arrival 
in  harbour  of  the  King;  it  is  resolved  to  march  in  full  masked 
procession  to  meet  the  beloved  Prince,  and  joyously  to  pay 
him  homage,  all  being  convinced  that  he  will  heartily  rejoice 
to  see  how  ill  the  gloomy  puritanism  of  Germany  is  suited  to 
his  hot-blooded  Sicily.  Of  him  it  is  said: 

Your  merry  festals  please  him  more 
Than  gloomy  laws  or  legal  lore. 

Friedrich,  with  his  freshly  affianced  wife,  Marianne,  must  lead 
the  procession,  followed  by  Luzio  and  the  novice,  who  is  for 
ever  lost  to  the  convent. 

These  spirited  and,  in  many  respects,  boldly  devised  scenes 
I  had  clothed  in  suitable  language  and  carefully  written  verse, 
which  had  already  been  noticed  by  Laube.  The  police  at  first 
took  exception  to  the  title  of  the  work,  which,  had  I  not 
changed  it,  would  have  led  to  the  complete  failure  of  my  plans 
for  its  presentation.  It  was  the  week  before  Easter,  and  the 
theatre  was  consequently  forbidden  to  produce  jolly,  or  at  least 
frivolous,  plays  during  this  period.  Luckily  the  magistrate, 
with  whom  I  had  to  treat  concerning  the  matter,  did  not  show 
any  inclination  to  examine  the  libretto  himself;  and  when  I 
assured  him  that  it  was  modelled  upon  a  very  serious  play  of 
Shakespeare's,  the  authorities  contented  themselves  merely  with 
changing  the  somewhat  startling  title.  Die  Novize  von  Palermo, 
which  was  the  new  title,  had  nothing  suspicious  about  it,  and 
was  therefore  approved  as  correct  without  further  scruple.  I 
fared  quite  otherwise  in  Leipzig,  where  I  attempted  to  intro- 
duce this  work  in  the  place  of  my  Feen,  when  the  latter  was 
withdrawn.  The  director,  Ringelhardt,  whom  I  sought  to 
win  over  to  my  cause  by  assigning  the  part  of  Marianne  to  his 
daughter,  then  making  her  debut  in  opera,  chose  to  reject  my 
work  on  the  apparently  very  reasonable  grounds  that  the 
tendency  of  the  theme  displeased  him.  He  assured  me  that, 
even  if  the  Leipzig  magistrates  had  consented  to  its  production 
—  a  fact  concerning  which  his  high  esteem  for  that  body  led 
him  to  have  serious  doubts  —  he  himself,  as  a  conscientious 
father,  could  certainly  not  permit  his  daughter  to  take  part 
in  it. 


<  LIEBESVERBOT '  147 

Strange  to  say,  I  suffered  nothing  from  the  suspicious  nature 
of  the  libretto  of  my  opera  on  the  occasion  of  its  production  in 
Magdeburg;  for,  as  I  have  said,  thanks  to  the  unintelligible 
manner  in  which  it  was  produced,  the  story  remained  a  complete 
mystery  to  the  public.  This  circumstance,  and  the  fact  that 
no  opposition  had  been  raised  on  the  ground  of  its  tendency, 
made  a  second  performance  possible,  and  as  nobody  seemed  to 
care  one  way  or  the  other,  no  objections  were  raised.  Feeling 
sure  that  my  opera  had  made  no  impression,  and  had  left  the 
public  completely  undecided  about  its  merits,  I  reckoned  that, 
in  view  of  this  being  the  farewell  performance  of  our  opera 
company,  we  should  have  good,  not  to  say  large,  takings. 
Consequently  I  did  not  hesitate  to  charge  '  full '  prices  for 
admittance.  I  cannot  rightly  judge  whether,  up  to  the  com- 
mencement of  the  overture,  any  people  had  taken  their  places 
in  the  auditorium;  but  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour  before  the 
time  fixed  for  beginning,  I  saw  only  Mme.  Gottschalk  and  her 
husband,  and,  curiously  enough,  a  Polish  Jew  in  full  dress, 
seated  in  the  stalls.  Despite  this,  I  was  still  hoping  for  an 
increase  in  the  audience,  when  suddenly  the  most  incredible 
commotion  occurred  behind  the  scenes.  Herr  Pollert,  the  hus- 
band of  my  prima  donna  (who  was  acting  Isabella),  was  as- 
saulting Schreiber,  the  second  tenor,  a  very  young  and  hand- 
some man  taking  the  part  of  Claudio,  and  against  whom  the 
injured  husband  had  for  some  time  been  nursing  a  secret 
rancour  born  of  jealousy.  It  appeared  that  the  singer's  hus- 
band, who  had  surveyed  the  theatre  from  behind  the  drop- 
scene  with  me,  had  satisfied  himself  as  to  the  style  of  the 
audience,  and  decided  that  the  longed-for  hour  was  at  hand 
when,  without  injuring  the  operatic  enterprise,  he  could  wreak 
vengeance  on  his  wife's  lover.  Claudio  was  so  severely  used 
by  him  that  the  unfortunate  fellow  had  to  seek  refuge  in  the 
dressing-room,  his  face  covered  with  blood.  Isabella  was  told 
of  this,  and  rushed  despairingly  to  her  raging  spouse,  only  to 
be  so  soundly  cuffed  by  him  that  she  went  into  convulsions. 
The  confusion  that  ensued  amongst  the  company  soon  knew  no 
bounds:  they  took  sides  in  the  quarrel,  and  little  was  wanting 
for  it  to  turn  into  a  general  fight,  as  everybody  seemed  to  regard 
this  unhappy  evening  as  particularly  favourable  for  the  paying 


148  MY   LIFE 

off  of  any  old  scores  and  supposed  insults.  This  much  was 
clear,  that  the  couple  suffering  from  the  effects  of  Herr  Pollert's 
conjugal  resentment  were  unfit  to  appear  that  evening.  The 
manager  was  sent  before  the  drop-scene  to  inform  the  small 
and  strangely  assorted  audience  gathered  in  the  theatre  that, 
owing  to  unforeseen  circumstances,  the  representation  would 
not  take  place. 

This  was  the  end  of  my  career  as  director  and  composer  in 
Magdeburg,  which  in  the  beginning  had  seemed  so  full  of  promise 
and  had  been  started  at  the  cost  of  considerable  sacrifice.  The 
serenity  of  art  now  gave  way  completely  before  the  stern  reali- 
ties of  life.  My  position  gave  food  for  meditation,  and  the 
outlook  was  not  a  cheerful  one.  All  the  hopes  that  I  and  Minna 
had  founded  upon  the  success  of  my  work  had  been  utterly 
destroyed.  My  creditors,  who  had  been  appeased  by  the  an- 
ticipation of  the  expected  harvest,  lost  faith  in  my  talents, 
and  now  counted  solely  on  obtaining  bodily  possession  of  me, 
which  they  endeavoured  to  do  by  speedily  instituting  legal  pro- 
ceedings. Now  that  every  time  I  came  home  I  found  a  sum-/ 
mons  nailed  to  my  door,  my  Jittle  dwelling  in  the  Breiteri 
Weg  became  unbearable;  I  avoided  going  there,  especially^ 
since  my  brown  poodle,  who  had  hitherto  enlivened  this  retreat,  ( 
had  vanished,  leaving  no  trace.  This  I  looked  upon  as  a  bad 
sign,  indicating  my  complete  downfall. 

At  this  time  Minna,  with  her  truly  comforting  assurance  and  • 
firmness  of  bearing,  was  a  tower  of  strength  to  me  and  the  one 
thing  I  had  left  to  fall  back  upon.     Always  full  of  resource,  i 
she  had  first  of  all  provided  for  her  own  future,  and  was  on  the ,' 
point  of  signing  a  not  unfavourable  contract  with  the  directors 
of  the  theatre  at  Konigsberg  in  Prussia.    It  was  now  a  question 
of  finding  me  an  appointment  in  the  same  place  as  musical 
conductor;    this  post  was  already  filled.     The  Konigsberg  di- 
rector, however,  gathering  from  our  correspondence  that  Minna's 
acceptance  of  the  engagement  depended  upon  the  possibility  of 
my  being  taken  on  at  the  same  theatre,  held  out  the  prospect 
of  an  approaching  vacancy,  and  expressed  his  willingness  to 
allow  it  to  be  filled  by  me.     On  the  strength  of  this  assurance 
it  was  decided  that  Minna  should  go  on  to  Konigsberg  and 
pave  the  way  for  my  arrival  there. 


A   LAST    FAREWELL  149 

Ere  these  plans  could  be  carried  out,  we  had  still  to  spend  a 
time  of  dreadful  and  acute  anxiety,  which  I  shall  never  forget, 
within  the  walls  of  Magdeburg.  It  is  true  I  made  one  more 
personal  attempt  in  Leipzig  to  improve  my  position,  on  which 
occasion  I  entered  into  the  transactions  mentioned  above  with 
the  director  of  the  theatre  regarding  my  new  opera.  But  I 
soon  realised  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  for  me  to  remain 
in  my  native  town,  and  in  the  disquieting  proximity  of  my 
family,  from  which  I  was  restlessly  anxious  to  get  away.  My 
excitability  and  depression  were  noticed  by  my  relations.  My 
mother  entreated  me,  whatever  else  I  might  decide  to  do,  on 
no  account  to  be  drawn  into  marriage  while  still  so  young.  To 
this  I  made  no  reply.  When  I  took  my  leave,  Rosalie  accom- 
panied me  to  the  head  of  the  stairs.  I  spoke  of  returning  as 
soon  as  I  had  attended  to  certain  important  business  matters, 
and  wanted  to  wish  her  a  hurried  good-bye:  she  grasped  my 
hand,  and  gazing  into  my  face,  exclaimed,  "  God  alone  knows 
when  I  shall  see  you  again ! '  This  cut  me  to  the  heart,  and  I 
felt  conscience-stricken.  The  fact  that  she  was  expressing  the* 
presentiment  she  felt  of  her  early  death  I  only  realised  when, 
barely  two  years  later,  without  having  seen  her  again,  I  received 
the  news  that  she  had  died  very  suddenly. 

I  spent  a  few  more  weeks  with  Minna  in  the  strictest  retire- 
ment in  Magdeburg :  she  endeavoured  to  the  best  of  her  ability 
to  relieve  the  embarrassment  of  my  position.  In  view  of  our 
approaching  separation,  and  the  length  of  time  we  might  be 
parted,  I  hardly  left  her  side,  our  only  relaxation  being  the 
walks  we  took  together  round  the  outskirts  of  the  town.  Anx- 
ious forebodings  weighed  upon  us;  the  May  sun  which  lit 
the  sad  streets  of  Magdeburg,  as  if  in  mockery  of  our  forlorn 
condition,  was  one  day  more  clouded  over  than  I  have  ever 
seen  it  since,  and  filled  me  with  a  positive  dread.  On  our  way 
home  from  one  of  these  walks,  as  we  were  approaching  the 
bridge  crossing  the  Elbe,  we  caught  sight  of  a  man  flinging 
himself  from  it  into  the  water  beneath.  We  ran  to  the  bank, 
called  for  help,  and  persuaded  a  miller,  whose  mill  was  situated 
on  the  river,  to  hold  out  a  rake  to  the  drowning  man,  who  was 
being  swept  in  his  direction  by  the  current.  With  indescribable 
anxiety  we  waited  for  the  decisive  moment  —  saw  the  sinking 


150  MY   LIFE 

man  stretch  out  his  hands  towards  the  rake,  but  he  failed  to 
grasp  it,  and  at  the  same  moment  disappeared  under  the  mill, 
never  to  he  seen  again.  On  the  morning  that  I  accompanied 
Minna  to  the  stage-coach  to  bid  her  a  most  sorrowful  farewell, 
the  whole  population  was  pouring  from  one  of  the  gateways 
of  the  town  towards  a  big  field,  to  witness  the  execution  of  a 
man  condemned  to  be  put  to  death  on  the  wheel  '  from  below.' 1 
The  culprit  was  a  soldier  who  had  murdered  his  sweetheart 
in  a  fit  of  jealousy.  When,  later  in  the  day,  I  sat  down  to 
my  last  dinner  at  the  inn,  I  heard  the  dreadful  details  of  the 
Prussian  mode  of  execution  being  discussed  on  all  sides.  A 
young  magistrate,  who  was  a  great  lover  of  music,  told  us  about 
a  conversation  he  had  had  with  the  executioner,  who  had  been 
procured  from  Halle,  and  with  whom  he  had  discussed  the 
most  humane  method  of  hastening  the  death  of  the  victim;  in 
telling  us  about  him,  he  recalled  the  elegant  dress  and  manners 
of  this  ill-omened  person  with  a  shudder. 

These  were  the  last  impressions  I  carried  away  from  the 
scene  of  my  first  artistic  efforts  and  of  my  attempts  at  earning 
an  independent  livelihood.  Often  since  then  on  my  departure 
from  places  where  I  had  expected  to  find  prosperity,  and  to 
which  I  knew  I  should  never  return,  those  impressions  have 
recurred  to  my  mind  with  singular  persistence.  I  have  always 
had  much  the  same  feelings  upon  leaving  any  place  where  I 
had  stayed  in  the  hope  of  improving  my  position. 

Thus  I  arrived  in  Berlin  for  the  first  time  on  the  18th  May, 
1836,  and  made  acquaintance  with  the  peculiar  features  of 
that  pretentious  royal  capital.  While  my  position  was  an  un- 
certain one,  I  sought  a  modest  shelter  at  the  Crown  Prince 
in  the  Konigstrasse,  where  Minna  had  stayed  a  few  months 
before.  I  found  a  friend  on  whom  I  could  rely  when  I  came 
across  Laube  again,  who,  while  awaiting  his  verdict,  was 

1  Durch  das  Rod  von  unten.  The  punishment  of  the  wheel  was  usually 
inflicted  upon  murderers,  incendiaries,  highwaymen  and  church  robbers.  There 
were  two  methods  of  inflicting  this :  (1) '  from  above  downwards  '  (von  oben  nach 
unten),  in  which  the  condemned  man  was  despatched  instantly  owing  to  his  neck 
getting  broken  from  the  start;  and  (2)  '  from  below  upwards  '  (von  unten  nach 
oben),  which  is  the  method  referred  to  above,  and  in  which  all  the  limbs  of  the 
victim  were  broken  previous  to  his  body  being  actually  twisted  through  the 
spokes  of  the  wheel.  —  EDITOB. 


BERLIN    (1836)  151 

busying  himself  with  private  and  literary  work  in  Berlin. 
He  was  much  interested  in  the  fate  of  my  work  Liebesverbot, 
and  advised  me  to  turn  my  present  situation  to  account  for 
the  purpose  of  obtaining  the  production  of  this  opera  at  the 
Konigstadt  theatre.  This  theatre  was  under  the  direction 
of  one  of  the  most  curious  creatures  in  Berlin:  he  was  called 
'  Cerf/  and  the  title  of  C ommissionsrath  had  been  conferred 
upon  him  by  the  King  of  Prussia.  To  account  for  the  favours 
bestowed  upon  him  by  royalty,  many  reasons  of  a  not  very 
edifying  nature  were  circulated.  Through  this  royal  patronage 
he  had  succeeded  in  extending  considerably  the  privileges 
already  enjoyed  by  the  suburban  theatre.  The  decline  of  grand 
opera  at  the  Theatre  Royal  had  brought  light  opera,  which 
was  performed  with  great  success  at  the  Konigstadt  theatre, 
into  public  favour.  The  director,  puffed  up  by  success,  openly 
laboured  under  the  delusion  that  he  was  the  right  man  in  the 
right  place,  and  expressed  his  entire  agreement  with  those 
who  declared  that  one  could  only  expect  a  theatre  to  be  suc- 
cessfully managed  by  common  and  uneducated  men,  and 
continued  to  cling  to  his  blissful  and  boundless  state  of 
ignorance  in  the  most  amusing  manner.  Relying  absolutely 
upon  his  own  insight,  he  had  assumed  an  entirely  dictatorial 
attitude  towards  the  officially  appointed  artists  of  his  theatre, 
and  allowed  himself  to  deal  with  them  according  to  his  likes 
and  dislikes.  I  seemed  destined  to  be  favoured  by  this  mode 
of  procedure:  at  my  very  first  visit  Cerf  expressed  his  satis- 
faction with  me,  but  wished  to  make  use  of  me  as  a  '  tenor.' 
He  offered  no  objection  whatever  to  my  request  for  the  pro- 
duction of  my  opera,  but,  on  the  contrary,  promised  to  have  it 
staged  immediately.  He  seemed  particularly  anxious  to  appoint 
me  conductor  of  the  orchestra.  As  he  was  on  the  point  of 
changing  his  operatic  company,  he  foresaw  that  his  present 
conductor,  Glaser,  the  composer  of  Adlershorst,  would  hinder 
his  plans  by  taking  the  part  of  the  older  singers :  he  was  there- 
fore anxious  to  have  me  associated  with  his  theatre,  that  he 
might  have  some  one  to  support  him  who  was  favourably  dis- 
posed towards  the  new  singers. 

All  this  sounded  so  plausible,  that  I  could  scarcely  be  blamed 
for  believing  that  the  wheel  of  fortune  had  taken  a  favourable 


152  MY  LIFE 

turn  for  me,  and  for  feeling  a  sense  of  lightheartedness  at  tKe 
thought  of  such  rosy  prospects.  I  had  scarcely  allowed  myself 
the  few  modifications  in  my  manner  of  living  which  these 
improved  circumstances  seemed  to  justify,  ere  it  was  made 
clear  to  me  that  my  hopes  were  built  upon  sand.  I  was  filled 
with  positive  dread  when  I  soon  fully  realised  how  nearly  Cerf 
had  come  to  defrauding  me,  merely  it  would  seem  for  his  own 
amusement  After  the  manner  of  despots,  he  had  given  his 
favours  personally  and  autocratically;  the  withdrawal  and 
annulment  of  his  promises,  however,  he  made  known  to  me 
through  his  servants  and  secretaries,  thus  placing  his  strange 
conduct  towards  me  in  the  light  of  the  inevitable  result  of  his 
dependence  upon  officialdom. 

As  Cerf  wished  to  rid  himself  of  me  without  even  offering 
me  compensation,  I  was  obliged  to  try  to  come  to  some  under- 
standing regarding  all  that  had  been  definitely  arranged 
between  us,  and  this  with  the  very  people  against  whom  he 
had  previously  warned  me  and  had  wanted  me  to  side  with 
him.  The  conductor,  stage  manager,  secretary,  etc.,  had  to 
make  it  clear  to  me  that  my  wishes  could  not  be  satisfied,  and 
that  the  director  owed  me  no  compensation  whatever  for  the 
time  he  had  made  me  waste  while  awaiting  the  fulfilment  of 
his  promises.  This  unpleasant  experience  has  been  a  source 
of  pain  to  me  ever  since. 

Owing  to  all  this  my  position  was  very  much  worse  than  it 
had  been  before.  Minna  wrote  to  me  frequently  from  Kb'nigs- 
berg,  but  she  had  nothing  encouraging  to  tell  me  with  regard 
to  my  hopes  in  that  direction.  The  director  of  the  theatre 
there  seemed  unable  to  come  to  any  clear  understanding  with 
his  conductor,  a  circumstance  which  I  was  afterwards  able  to 
understand,  but  which  at  the  time  appeared  to  me  inexplicable, 
and  made  my  chance  of  obtaining  the  coveted  appointment 
seem  exceedingly  remote.  It  seemed  certain,  however,  that 
the  post  would  be  vacant  in  the  autumn,  and  as  I  was  drifting 
about  aimlessly  in  Berlin  and  refused  for  a  moment  to  enter- 
tain the  thought  of  returning  to  Leipzig,  I  snatched  at  this 
faint  hope,  and  in  imagination  soared  above  the  Berlin  quick- 
sands to  the  safety  of  the  harbour  on  the  Baltic. 

I  only  succeeded  in  doing  so,  however,  after  I  had  struggled 


MINNA  153 

through  difficult  and  s  erious  inward  conflicts  to  which  my 
relations  with  Minna  gave  rise.  An  incomprehensible  feature 
in  the  character  of  this  otherwise  apparently  simple-minded 
woman  had  thrown  my  young  heart  into  a  turmoil.  A  good- 
natured,  well-to-do  tradesman  of  Jewish  extraction,  named 
Schwabe,  who  till  that  time  had  been  established  in  Magdeburg, 
made  friendly  advances  to  me  in  Berlin,  and  I  soon  discovered 
that  his  sympathy  was  chiefly  due  to  the  passionate  interest 
which  he  had  conceived  for  Minna.  It  afterwards  became  clear 
to  me  that  an  intimacy  had  existed  between  this  man  and 
Minna,  which  in  itself  could  hardly  be  considered  as  a  breach 
of  faith  towards  me,  since  it  had  ended  in  a  decided  repulse 
of  my  rival's  courtship  in  my  favour.  But  the  fact  of  this 
episode  having  been  kept  so  secret  that  I  had  not  had  the 
faintest  idea  of  it  before,  and  also  the  suspicion  I  could  not 
avoid  harbouring  that  Minna's  comfortable  circumstances  were 
in  part  due  to  this  man's  friendship,  filled  me  with  gloomy 
misgivings.  But  as  I  have  said,  although  I  could  find  no  real 
cause  to  complain  of  infidelity,  I  was  distracted  and  alarmed, 
and  was  at  last  driven  to  the  half-desperate  resolve  of  regaining 
my  balance  in  this  respect  by  obtaining  complete  possession 
of  Minna.  It  seemed  to  me  as  though  my  stability  as  a  citizen, 
as  well  as  my  professional  success  would  be  assured  by  a  recog- 
nised union  with  Minna.  The  two  years  spent  in  the  theatrical 
world  had,  in  fact,  kept  me  in  a  constant  state  of  distraction, 
of  which  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  was  most  painfully  conscious. 
I  realised  vaguely  that  I  was  on  the  wrong  path;  I  longed  for 
peace  and  quiet,  and  hoped  to  find  these  most  effectually  by 
getting  married,  and  so  putting  an  end  to  the  state  of  things 
that  had  become  the  source  of  so  much  anxiety  to  me. 

It  was  not  surprising  that  Laube  noticed  by  my  untidy, 
passionate,  and  wasted  appearance  that  something  unusual 
was  amiss  with  me.  It  was  only  in  his  company,  which  I 
always  found  comforting,  that  I  gained  the  only  impressions  of 
Berlin  which  compensated  me  in  any  way  for  my  misfortunes. 
The  most  important  artistic  experience  I  had,  came  to  me 
through  the  performance  of  Ferdinand  Cortez,  conducted  by 
Spontini  himself,  the  spirit  of  which  astonished  me  more 
than  anything  I  had  ever  heard  before.  Though  the  actual 


154  MY   LIFE 

production,  especially  as  regards  the  chief  characters,  who  as 
a  whole  could  not  be  regarded  as  belonging  to  the  flower  of 
Berlin  opera,  left  me  unmoved,  and  though  the  effect  never 
reached  a  point  that  could  be  even  distantly  compared  to  that 
produced  upon  me  by  Schroder-Devrient,  yet  the  exceptional 
precision,  fire,  and  richly  organised  rendering  of  the  whole 
was  new  to  me.  I  gained  a  fresh  insight  into  the  peculiar 
dignity  of  big  theatrical  representations,  which  in  their  several 
parts  could,  by  well-accentuated  rhythm,  be  made  to  attain 
the  highest  pinnacle  of  art.  This  extraordinarily  distinct 
impression  took  a  drastic  hold  of  me,  and  above  all  served  to 
guide  me  in  my  conception  of  Rienzi,  so  that,  speaking  from  an 
artistic  point  of  view,  Berlin  may  be  said  to  have  left  its  traces 
on  my  development. 

-For  the  present,  however,  my  chief  concern  was  to  extricate 
myself  from  my  extremely  helpless  position.  I  was  determined 
to  turn  my  steps  to  Konigsberg,  and  communicated  my  decision, 
and  the  hopes  founded  upon  it,  to  Laube.  This  excellent 
friend,  without  further  inquiry,  made  a  point  of  exerting  his 
energies  to  free  me  from  my  present  state  of  despair,  and  to 
help  me  to  reach  my  next  destination,  an  object  which,  through 
the  assistance  of  several  of  his  friends,  he  succeeded  in  accom- 
plishing. When  he  said  good-bye  to  me,  Laube  with  sympa- 
thetic foresight  warned  me,  should  I  succeed  in  my  desired 
career  of  musical  conductor,  not  to  allow  myself  to  be  entangled 
in  the  shallowness  of  stage  life,  and  advised  me,  after  fatiguing 
rehearsals,  instead  of  going  to  my  sweetheart,  to  take  a  serious 
book  in  hand,  in  order  that  my  greater  gifts  might  not  go 
uncultivated.  I  did  not  tell  him  that  by  taking  an  early  and 
decisive  step  in  this  direction  I  intended  to  protect  myself 
effectually  against  the  dangers  of  theatrical  intrigues.  On 
the  7th  of  July,  therefore,  I  started  on  what  was  at  that  time 
an  extremely  troublesome  and  fatiguing  journey  to  the  distant : 
town  of  Kb'nigsberg. 

It  seemed  to  me  as  though  I  were  leaving  the  world,  as  I 
travelled  on  day  after  day  through  the  desert  marches.  Then 
followed  a  sad  and  humiliating  impression  of  Konigsberg,  where, 
in  one  of  the  poorest-looking  suburbs,  Tragheim,  near  the 
theatre,  and  in  a  lane  such  as  one  would  expect  to  find  in  a 


SCHUBEKT  155 

village,  I  found  the  ugly  house  in  which  Minna  lodged.  The 
friendly  and  quiet  kindness  of  manner,  however,  which  was 
peculiar  to  her,  soon  made  me  feel  at  home.  She  was  popular 
at  the  theatre,  and  was  respected  by  the  managers  and  actors, 
a  fact  which  seemed  to  augur  well  for  her  betrothed,  the  part 
I  was  now  openly  to  assume. 

Though  as  yet  there  seemed  no  distinct  prospect  of  my 
getting  the  appointment  I  had  come  for,  yet  we  agreed  that 
I  could  hold  out  a  little  longer,  and  that  the  matter  would 
certainly  be  arranged  in  the  end.  This  was  also  the  opinion 
of  the  eccentric  Abraham  Moller,  a  worthy  citizen  of  Konigs- 
berg,  who  was  devoted  to  the  theatre,  and  who  took  a  very 
friendly  interest  in  Minna,  and  finally  also  in  me.  This  man, 
who  was  already  well  advanced  in  life,  belonged  to  the  type  of 
theatre  lovers  now  probably  completely  extinct  in  Germany, 
but  of  whom  so  much  is  recorded  in  the  history  of  actors  of 
earlier  times.  One  could  not  spend  an  hour  in  the  company  of 
this  man,  who  at  one  time  had  gone  in  for  the  most  reckless 
speculations,  without  having  to  listen  to  his  account  of  the 
glory  of  the  stage  in  former  times,  described  in  most  lively 
terms.  As  a  man  of  means  he  had  at  one  time  made  the 
acquaintance  of  nearly  all  the  great  actors  and  actresses  of  his 
day,  and  had  even  known  how  to  win  their  friendship.  Through 
too  great  a  liberality  he  unfortunately  found  himself  in  reduced 
circumstances,  and  was  now  obliged  to  procure  the  means  to 
satisfy  his  craving  for  the  theatre  and  his  desire  to  protect 
those  belonging  to  it  by  entering  into  all  kinds  of  strange 
business  transactions,  in  which,  without  running  any  real  risk, 
he  felt  there  was  something  to  be  gained.  He  was  accordingly 
only  able  to  afford  the  theatre  a  very  meagre  support,  but  one 
which  was  quite  in  keeping  with  its  decrepit  condition. 

This  strange  man,  of  whom  the  theatre  director,  Anton 
Hiibsch,  stood  to  a  certain  extent  in  awe,  undertook  to  procure 
me  my  appointment.  The  only  circumstance  against  me  was 
the  fact  that  Louis  Schubert,  the  famous  musician  whom  I 
had  known  from  very  early  times  as  the  first  violoncellist  of 
the  Magdeburg  orchestra,  had  come  to  Konigsberg  from  Riga, 
where  the  theatre  had  been  closed  for  a  time,  and  where  he  had 
left  his  wife,  in  order  to  fill  the  post  of  musical  conductor  here 


156  MY   LIFE 

until  the  new  theatre  in  Kiga  was  opened,  and  he  could  return. 
The  reopening  of  the  Riga  theatre,  which  had  already  been 
fixed  for  the  Easter  of  this  year,  had  been  postponed,  and  he 
was  now  anxious  not  to  leave  Konigsberg.  Since  Schubert 
was  a  thorough  master  in  his  art,  and  since  his  choosing  to 
remain  or  go  depended  entirely  on  circumstances  over  which 
he  had  no  control,  the  theatre  director  found  himself  in  the 
embarrassing  position  of  having  to  secure  some  one  who  would 
be  willing  to  wait  to  enter  upon  his  appointment  till  Schubert's 
business  called  him  away.  Consequently  a  young  musical 
conductor  who  was  anxious  to  remain  in  Konigsberg  at  any 
price  could  but  be  heartily  welcomed  as  a  reserve  and  sub- 
stitute in  case  of  emergency.  Indeed,  the  director  declared 
himself  willing  to  give  me  a  small  retaining  fee  till  the  time 
should  arrive  for  my  definite  entrance  upon  my  duties. 

Schubert,  on  the  contrary,  was  furious  at  my  arrival;  there 
was  no  longer  any  necessity  for  his  speedy  return  to  Riga, 
since  the  reopening  of  the  theatre  there  had  been  postponed 
indefinitely.  Moreover,  he  had  a  special  interest  in  remaining 
in  Konigsberg,  as  he  had  conceived  a  passion  for  the  prima 
donna  there,  which  considerably  lessened  his  desire  to  return 
to  his  wife.  So  at  the  last  moment  he  clung  to  his  Konigsberg 
post  with  great  eagerness,  regarded  me  as  his  deadly  enemy, 
and,  spurred  on  by  his  instinct  of  self-preservation,  used  every 
means  in  his  power  to  make  my  stay  in  Konigsberg,  and  the 
already  painful  position  I  occupied  while  awaiting  his  departure, 
a  veritable  hell  to  me. 

While  in  Magdeburg  I  had  been  on  the  friendliest  footing 
with  both  musicians  and  singers,  and  had  been  shown  the 
greatest  consideration  by  the  public,  I  here  found  I  had  to 
defend  myself  on  all  sides  against  the  most  mortifying  ill-will. 
This  hostility  towards  me,  which  soon  made  itself  apparent, 
contributed  in  no  small  degree  to  make  me  feel  as  though  in 
coming  to  Konigsberg  I  had  gone  into  exile.  In  spite  of  my 
eagerness,  I  realised  that  under  the  circumstances  my  marriage 
with  Minna  would  prove  a  hazardous  undertaking.  At  the 
beginning  of  August  the  company  went  to  Memel  for  a  time, 
to  open  the  summer  season  there,  and  I  followed  Minna  a  few 
days  later.  We  went  most  of  the  way  by  sea,  and  crossed  the 


HARDSHIPS  157 

Kurische  Haff  in  a  sailing  vessel  in  bad  weather  with  the  wind 
against  us  —  one  of  the  most  melancholy  crossings  I  have 
ever  experienced.  As  we  passed  the  thin  strip  of  sand  that 
divides  this  bay  from  the  Baltic  Sea,  the  castle  of  Runsitten, 
where  Hoffmann  laid  the  scene  of  one  of  his  most  gruesome 
tales  (.Das  Majorat),  was  pointed  out  to  me.  The  fact  that  in 
this  desolate  neighbourhood,  of  all  places  in  the  world,  I 
should  after  so  long  a  lapse  of  time  be  once  more  brought  in 
contact  with  the  fantastic  impressions  of  my  youth,  had  a 
singular  and  depressing  effect  on  my  mind.  The  unhappy 
sojourn  in  Memel,  the  lamentable  role  I  played  there,  every- 
thing in  short,  contributed  to  make  me  find  my  only  consola- 
tion in  Minna,  who,  after  all,  was  the  cause  of  my  having  placed 
myself  in  this  unpleasant  position.  Our  friend  Abraham 
followed  us  from  Konigsberg  and  did  all  kinds  of  queer  things 
to  promote  my  interests,  and  was  obviously  anxious  to  put 
the  director  and  conductor  at  variance  with  each  other.  One 
day  Schubert,  in  consequence  of  a  dispute  with  Hiibsch  on  the 
previous  night,  actually  declared  himself  too  unwell  to  attend 
a  rehearsal  of  Euryanthe,  in  order  to  force  the  manager  to 
summon  me  suddenly  to  take  his  place.  In  doing  this  my 
rival  maliciously  hoped  that  as  I  was  totally  unprepared  to 
conduct  this  difficult  opera,  which  was  seldom  played,  I  would 
expose  my  incapacity  in  a  manner  most  welcome  to  his  hos- 
tile intentions.  Although  I  had  never  really  had  a  score  of 
Euryanthe  before  me,  his  wish  was  so  little  gratified,  that  he 
elected  to  get  well  for  the  representation  in  order  to  conduct 
it  himself,  which  he  would  not  have  done  if  it  had  been  found 
necessary  to  cancel  the  performance  on  account  of  my  incom- 
petence. In  this  wretched  position,  vexed  in  mind,  exposed  to 
the  severe  climate,  which  even  on  summer  evenings  struck  me 
as  horribly  cold,  and  occupied  merely  in  warding  off  the  most 
painful  troubles  of  life,  my  time,  as  far  as  any  professional 
advancement  was  concerned,  was  completely  lost.  At  last,  on 
our  return  to  Konigsberg,  and  particularly  under  the  guardian- 
ship of  Moller,  the  question  as  to  what  was  to  be  done  was  more 
earnestly  considered.  Finally,  Minna  and  I  were  offered  a 
fairly  good  engagement  in  Danzig,  through  the  influence  of 
my  brother-in-law  Wolfram  and  his  wife,  who  had  gone  there. 


158  MY   LIFE 

Moller  seized  this  opportunity  to  induce  the  director  Hiibsch, 
who  was  anxious  not  to  lose  Minna,  to  sign  a  contract  including 
us  both,  and  by  which  it  was  understood  that  under  any 
circumstances  I  should  be  officially  appointed  as  conductor  at 
his  theatre  from  the  following  Easter.  Moreover,  for  our 
wedding,  a  benefit  performance  was  promised,  for  which  we 
chose  Die  Stumme  von  Portici,  to  be  conducted  by  me  in  person. 
For,  as  Moller  remarked,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  for  us  to 
get  married,  and  to  have  a  due  celebration  of  the  event;  there 
was  no  getting  out  of  it  Minna  made  no  objection,  and  all 
my  past  endeavours  and  resolutions  seemed  to  prove  that  my 
one  desire  was  to  take  anchor  in  the  haven  of  matrimony.  In 
spite  of  this,  however,  a  strange  conflict  was  going  on  within 
me  at  this  time.  I  had  become  sufficiently  intimate  with 
Minna's  life  and  character  to  realise  the  wide  difference  between 
our  two  natures  as  fully  as  the  important  step  I  was  about  to 
take  necessitated;  but  my  powers  of  judgment  were  not  yet 
sufficiently  matured. 

My  future  wife  was  the  child  of  poor  parents,  natives  of 
Oederan  in  the  Erzgebirge  in  Saxony.  Her  father  was  no 
ordinary  man;  he  possessed  enormous  vitality,  but  in  his  old 
age  showed  traces  of  some  feebleness  of  mind.  In  his  young  days 
he  had  been  a  trumpeter  in  Saxony,  and  in  this  capacity  had 
taken  part  in  a  campaign  against  the  French,  and  had  also  been 
present  at  the  battle  of  Wagram.  He  afterwards  became  a 
mechanic,  and  took  up  the  trade  of  manufacturing  cards  for 
carding  wool,  and  as  he  invented  an  improvement  in  the  pro- 
cess of  their  production,  he  is  said  to  have  made  a  very  good 
business  of  it  for  some  time.  A  rich  manufacturer  of  Chemnitz 
once  gave  him  a  large  order  to  be  delivered  at  the  end  of  the 
year:  the  children,  whose  pliable  fingers  had  already  proved 
serviceable  in  this  respect,  had  to  work  hard  day  and  night, 
and  in  return  the  father  promised  them  an  exceptionally  happy 
Christmas,  as  he  expected  to  get  a  large  sum  of  money.  When 
the  longed-for  time  arrived,  however,  he  received  the  announce- 
ment of  his  client's  bankruptcy.  The  goods  that  had  already 
been  delivered  were  lost,  and  the  material  that  remained  on 
his  hands  there  was  no  prospect  of  selling.  The  family  never 
succeeded  in  recovering  from  the  state  of  confusion  into  which 


MINNA'S   HISTOKY  159 

this  misfortune  had  thrown  them;  they  went  to  Dresden, 
where  the  father  hoped  to  find  remunerative  employment  as  a 
skilled  mechanic,  especially  in  the  manufacture  of  pianos,  of 
which  he  supplied  separate  parts.  He  also  brought  away  with 
him  a  large  quantity  of  the  fine  wire  which  had  been  destined 
for  the  manufacture  of  the  cards,  and  which  he  hoped  to  be 
able  to  sell  at  a  profit.  The  ten-year-old  Minna  was  commis- 
sioned to  sell  separate  lots  of  it  to  the  milliners  for  making 
flowers.  She  would  set  out  with  a  heavy  basketful  of  wire, 
and  had  such  a  gift  for  persuading  people  to  buy  that  she  soon 
disposed  of  the  whole  supply  to  the  best  advantage.  From 
this  time  the  desire  was  awakened  in  her  to  be  of  active  use 
to  her  impoverished  family,  and  to  earn  her  own  living  as  soon 
as  possible,  in  order  not  to  be  a  burden  on  her  parents.  As 
she  grew  up  and  developed  into  a  strikingly  beautiful  woman, 
she  attracted  the  attention  of  men  at  a  very  early  age.  A 
certain  Herr  von  Einsiedel  fell  passionately  in  love  with  her, 
and  took  advantage  of  the  inexperienced  young  girl  when  she 
was  off.  her  guard.  Her  family  was  thrown  into  the  utmost 
consternation,  and  only  her  mother  and  elder  sister  could  be 
told  of  the  terrible  position  in  which  Minna  found  herself. 
Her  father,  from  whose  anger  the  worst  consequences  were  to' 
be  feared,  was  never  informed  that  his  barely  seventeen-year- 
old  daughter  had  become  a  mother,  and  under  conditions  that 
had  threatened  her  life,  had  given  birth  to  a  girl.  Minna, 
who  could  obtain  no  redress  from  her  seducer,  now  felt  doubly 
called  upon  to  earn  her  own  livelihood  and  leave  her  father's 
house.  Through  the  influence  of  friends,  she  had  been  brought 
into  contact  with  an  amateur  theatrical  society:  while  acting 
in  a  performance  given  there,  she  attracted  the  notice  of  mem- 
bers of  the  Royal  Court  Theatre,  and  in  particular  drew  the 
attention  of  the  director  of  the  Dessau  Court  Theatre,  who 
was  present,  and  who  immediately  offered  her  an  engagement. 
She  gladly  caught  at  this  way  of  escape  from  her  trying  position, 
as  it  opened  up  the  possibility  of  a  brilliant  stage  career,  and 
otsome  day  being  able  to  provide  amply  for  her  family.  She 
had  not  the  slightest  passion  for  the  stage,  and  utterly  devoid 
as  she  was  of  any  levity  or  coquetry,  she  merely  saw  in  a 
theatrical  career  the  means  of  earning  a  quick,  and  possibly 


'160  MY   LIFE 

even  a  rich,  livelihood.  Without  any  artistic  training,  the 
theatre  merely  meant  for  her  the  company  of  actors  and  act- 
resses. Whether  she  pleased  or  not  seemed  of  importance 
in  her  eyes  only  in  so  far  as  it  affected  her  realisation  of  a 
comfortable  independence.  To  use  all  the  means  at  her  dis- 
posal to  assure  this  end  seemed  to  her  as  necessary  as  it  is  for 
a  tradesman  to  expose  his  goods  to  the  best  advantage. 

The  friendship  of  the  director,  manager,  and  favourite 
members  of  the  theatre  she  regarded  as  indispensable,  whilst 
those  frequenters  of  the  theatre  who,  through  their  criticism 
.or  taste,  influenced  the  public,  and  thus  also  had  weight  with 
the  management,  she  recognised  as  beings  upon  whom  the 
attainment  of  her  most  fervent  desires  depended.  Never  to 
make  enemies  of  them  appeared  so  natural  and  so  necessary 
that,  in  order  to  maintain  her  popularity,  she  was  prepared  to 
sacrifice  even  her  self-respect.  She  had  in  this  way  created  for 
herself  a  certain  peculiar  code  of  behaviour,  that  on  the  one 
hand  prompted  her  to  avoid  scandals,  but  on  the  other  hand 
found  excuses  even  for  making  herself  conspicuous  as  long  as  she 
herself  knew  that  she  was  doing  nothing  wrong.  Hence  arose 
a  mixture  of  inconsistencies,  the  questionable  sense  of  which 
she  was  incapable  of  grasping.  It  was  clearly  impossible  for 
her  not  to  lose  all  real  sense  of  delicacy;  she  showed,  however, 
a  sense  of  the  fitness  of  things,  which  made  her  have  regard 
to  what  was  considered  proper,  though  she  could  not  understand 
that  mere  appearances  were  a  mockery  when  they  only  served 
to  cloak  the  absence  of  a  real  sense  of  delicacy.  As  she  wasi 
without  idealism,  she  had  no  artistic  feeling ;  neither  did  she  • 
possess  any  talent  for  acting,  and  her  power  of  pleasing  was/ 
due  entirely  to  her  charming  appearance.  Whether  in  timei 
routine  would  have  made  her  become  a  good  actress  it  is 
impossible  for  me  to  say.  The  strange  power  she  exercised  over 
me  from  the  very  first  was  in  no  wise  due  to  the  fact  that  I 
regarded  her  in  any  way  as  the  embodiment  of  my  ideal ;  on 
the  contrary,  she  attracted  me  by  the  soberness  and  seriousness:, 
of  her  character,  which  supplemented  what  I  felt  to  be  wanting 
in  my  own,  and  afforded  me  the  support  that  in  my  wanderings 
after  the  ideal  I  knew  to  be  necessary  for  me. 

I  had  soon  accustomed  myself  never  to  betray  my  craving 


MINNA  ON  THE  STAGE  161 

after  the  ideal  before  Minna:  unable  to  account  for  this  even 
to  myself,  I  always  made  a  point  of  avoiding  the  subject  by 
passing  it  over  with  a  laugh  and  a  joke;  but,  on  this  account, 
it  was  all  the  more  natural  for  me  to  feel  qualms  when  fears 
arose  in  my  mind  as  to  her  really  possessing  the  qualities  to 
which  I  had  attributed  her  superiority  over  me.  Her  strange 
tolerance  with  regard  to  certain  familiarities  and  even  impor- 
tunities on  the  part  of  patrons  of  the  theatre,  directed  even 
against  her  person,  hurt  me  considerably ;  and  on  my  reproach- 
ing her  for  this,  I  was  driven  to  despair  by  her  assuming  an 
injured  expression  as  though  I  had  insulted  her.  It  was  quite 
by  chance  that  I  came  across  Schwabe's  letters,  and  thus  gained 
an  astonishing  insight  into  her  intimacy  with  that  man,  of 
which  she  had  left  me  in  ignorance,  and  allowed  me  to  gain 
my  first  knowledge  during  my  stay  in  Berlin.  All  my  latent 
jealousy,  all  my  inmost  doubts  concerning  Minna's  character, 
found  vent  in  my  sudden  determination  to  leave  the  girl  at 
once.  There  was  a  violent  scene  between  us,  which  was 
typical  of  all  our  subsequent  altercations.  I  had  obviously 
gone  too  far  in  treating  a  woman  who  was  not  passionately  in 
love  with  me,  as  if  I  had  a  real  right  over  her;  for,  after 
all,  she  had  merely  yielded  to  my  importunity,  and  in  no 
way  belonged  to  me.  To  add  to  my  perplexity,  Minna  only 
needed  to  remind  me  that  from  a  worldly  point  of  view  she 
had  refused  very  good  offers  in  order  to  give  way  to  the  impetu- 
osity of  a  penniless  young  man,  whose  talent  had  not  yet  been 
put  to  any  real  test,  and  to  whom  she  had  nevertheless  shown 
sympathy  and  kindness. 

What  she  could  least  forgive  in  me  was  the  raging  vehem- 
ence with  which  I  spoke,  and  by  which  she  felt  so  insulted,  that 
upon  realising  to  what  excesses  I  had  gone,  there  was  nothing 
I  could  do  but  try  and  pacify  her  by  owning  myself  in  the 
wrong,  and  begging  her  forgiveness.  Such  was  the  end  of  this 
and  all  subsequent  scenes,  outwardly,  at  least,  always  to  her 
advantage.  But  peace  was  undermined  for  ever,  and  by  the 
frequent  recurrence  of  such  quarrels,  Minna's  character  under- 
went a  considerable  change.  Just  as  in  later  times  she  became 
perplexed  by  what  she  considered  my  incomprehensible  con- 
ception of  art  and  its  proportions,  which  upset  her  ideas  about 


162  MY   LIFE 

everything  connected  with  it,  so  now  she  grew  more  and  more 
confused  by  my  greater  delicacy  in  regard  to  morality,  which 
was  very  different  from  hers,  especially  as  in  many  other  respects 
I  displayed  a  freedom  of  opinion  which  she  could  neither 
comprehend  nor  approve. 

A  feeling  of  passionate  resentment  was  accordingly  roused 
in  her  otherwise  tranquil  disposition.  It  was  not  surprising 
that  this  resentment  increased  as  the  years  went  on,  and  mani- 
fested itself  in  a  manner  characteristic  of  a  girl  sprung  from  the 
lower  middle  class,  in  whom  mere  superficial  polish  had  taken 
the  place  of  any  true  culture.  The  real  torment  of  our  subse-^ 
quent  life  together  lay  in  the  fact  that,  owing  to  her  violence, 
I  had  lost  the  last  support  I  had  hitherto  found  in  her  excep- 
tionally sweet  disposition.  At  that  time  I  was  filled  only 
with  a  dim  foreboding  of  the  fateful  step  I  was  taking  in  marry-  \ 
ing  her.  Her  agreeable  and  soothing  qualities  still  had  such 
a  beneficial  effect  upon  me,  that  with  the  frivolity  natural  to 
me,  as  well  as  the  obstinacy  with  which  I  met  all  opposition, 
I  silenced  the  inner  voice  that  darkly  foreboded  disaster. 

Since  my  journey  to  Konigsberg  I  had  broken  off  all  com- 
munication with  my  family,  that  is  to  say,  with  my  mother  and 
Rosalie,  and  I  told  no  one  of  the  step  I  had  decided  to  take. 
Under  my  old  friend  Holler's  audacious  guidance  I  overcame 
all  the  legal  difficulties  that  stood  in  the  way  of  our  union. 
According  to  Prussian  law,  a  man  who  has  reached  his  majority 
no  longer  requires  his  parents'  consent  to  his  marriage :  but  i 
since,  according  to  this  same  provision,  I  was  not  yet  of  age,  f 
I  had  recourse  to  the  law  of  Saxony,  to  which  country  I  belonged 
by  birth,  and  by  whose  regulations  I  had  already  attained  my 
majority  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  Our  banns  had  to  be 
published  at  the  place  where  we  had  been  living  during  the  past 
year,  and  this  formality  was  carried  out  in  Magdeburg  without 
any  further  objections  being  raised.  As  Minna's  parents  had 
given  their  consent,  the  only  thing  that  still  remained  to  be 
done  to  make  everything  quite  in  order  was  for  us  to  go  together 
to  the  clergyman  of  the  parish  of  Tragheim.  This  proved  a 
strange  enough  visit.  It  took  place  the  morning  preceding 
the  performance  to  be  given  for  our  benefit,  in  which  Minna 
had  chosen  the  pantomimic  role  of  Fenella;  her  costume  was 


BEFORE  THE  WEDDING  163 

not  ready  yet,  and  there  was  still  a  great  deal  to  be  done. 
The  rainy  cold  November  weather  made  us  feel  out  of  humour, 
when,  to  add  to  our  vexation,  we  were  kept  standing  in  the  hall 
of  the  vicarage  for  an  unreasonable  time.  Then  an  altercation 
arose  between  us  which  speedily  led  to  such  bitter  vituperation 
that  we  were  just  on  the  point  of  separating  and  going  each  our 
own  way,  when  the  clergyman  opened  the  door.  Not  a  little 
embarrassed  at  having  surprised  us  in  the  act  of  quarrelling, 
he  invited  us  in.  We  were  obliged  to  put  a  good  face  on  the 
matter,  however;  and  the  absurdity  of  the  situation  so  tickled 
our  sense  of  humour  that  we  laughed ;  the  parson  was  appeased, 
and  the  wedding  fixed  for  eleven  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

Another  fruitful  source  of  irritation,  which  often  led  to  the 
outbreak  of  violent  quarrelling  between  us,  was  the  arrange- 
ment of  our  future  home,  in  the  interior  comfort  and  beauty 
of  which  I  hoped  to  find  a  guarantee  of  happiness.  .  The 
economical  ideas  of  my  bride  filled  me  with  impatience.  I 
was  determined  that  the  inauguration  of  a  series  of  prosperous 
years  which  I  saw  before  me  must  be  celebrated  by  a  corre- 
spondingly comfortable  home.  Furniture,  household  utensils, 
and  all  necessaries  were  obtained  on  credit,  to  be  paid  for  by 
instalment.  There  was,  of  course,  no  question  of  a  dowry, 
a  wedding  outfit,  or  any  of  the  things  that  are  generally  con-  • 
sidered  indispensable  to  a  well-founded  establishment.  Our 
witnesses  and  guests  were  drawn  from  the  company  of  actors 
accidentally  brought  together  by  their  engagement  at  the  j 
Kb'nigsberg  theatre.  My  friend  Moller  made  us  a  present  of 
a  silver  sugar-basin,  which  was  supplemented  by  a  silver  cake- 
basket  from  another  stage  friend,  a  peculiar  and,  as  far  as  I 
can  remember,  rather  interesting  young  man  named  Ernst 
Castell.  The  benefit  performance  of  the  Die  Stumme  von  j 
Poriici,  which  I  conducted  with  great  enthusiasm,  went  off  / 
well,  and  brought  us  in  as  large  a  sum  as  we  had  counted  upon.  / 
After  spending  the  rest  of  the  day  before  our  wedding  very 
quietly,  as  we  were  tired  out  after  our  return  from  the  theatre, 
I  took  up  my  abode  for  the  first  time  in  our  new  home.  Not 
wishing  to  use  the  bridal  bed,  decorated  for  the  occasion,  I 
lay  down  on  a  hard  sofa,  without  even  sufficient  covering  on 
me,  and  froze  valiantly  while  awaiting  the  happiness  of  the 


164  MY   LIFE 

following  day.  I  was  pleasantly  excited  the  next  morning  by 
the  arrival  of  Minna's  belongings,  packed  in  boxes  and  baskets. 
The  weather,  too,  had  quite  cleared  up,  and  the  sun  was  shining 
brightly;  only  our  sitting-room  refused  to  get  properly  warm, 
which  for  some  time  drew  down  Minna's  reproaches  upon  my 
head  for  my  supposed  carelessness  in  not  having  seen  to  the 
heating  arrangements.  At  last  I  dressed  myself  in  my  new 
suit,  a  dark  blue  frock-coat  with  gold  buttons.  The  carriage 
drove  up,  and  I  set  out  to  fetch  my  bride.  The  bright  sky 
had  put  us  all  in  good  spirits,  and  in  the  best  of  humour  I  met 
Minna,  who  was  dressed  in  a  splendid  gown  chosen  by  me. 
She  greeted  me  with  sincere  cordiality  and  pleasure  shining  from 
her  eyes;  and  taking  the  fine  weather  as  a  good  omen,  we 
started  off  for  what  now  seemed  to  us  a  most  cheerful  wedding. 
We  enjoyed  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  church  as  over- 
crowded as  if  a  brilliant  theatrical  representation  were  being 
given;  it  was  quite  a  difficult  matter  to  make  our  way  to 
the  altar,  where  a  group  no  less  worldly  than  the  rest,  con- 
sisting of  our  witnesses,  dressed  in  all  their  theatrical  finery, 
were  assembled  to  receive  us.  There  was  not  one  real  friend 
amongst  all  those  present,  for  even  our  strange  old  friend 
Moller  was  absent,  because  no  suitable  partner  had  been 
found  for  him.  I  was  not  for  a  single  moment  insensible 
to  the  chilling  frivolity  of  the  congregation,  who  seemed  to 
impart  their  tone  to  the  whole  ceremony.  I  listened  like 
one  in  a  dream  to  the  nuptial  address  of  the  parson,  who, 
I  was  afterwards  told,  had  had  a  share  in  producing  the  spirit 
of  bigotry  which  at  this  time  was  so  prevalent  in  Kb'nigs- 
berg,  and  which  exercised  such  a  disquieting  influence  on  its 
population. 

A  few  days  later  I  was  told  that  a  rumour  had  got  about 
the  town  that  I  had  taken  action  against  the  parson  for  some 
gross  insults  contained  in  his  sermon;  I  did  not  quite  see 
what  was  meant,  but  supposed  that  the  exaggerated  report 
arose  from  a  passage  in  his  address  which  I  in  my  excitement 
had  misunderstood.  The  preacher,  in  speaking  of  the  dark 
days,  of  which  we  were  to  expect  our  share,  bade  us  look  to 
an  unknown  friend,  and  I  glanced  up  inquiringly  for  further 
particulars  of  this  mysterious  and  influential  patron  who  chose 


AFTER  THE  WEDDING  165 

so  strange  a  way  of  announcing  himself.  Reproachfully,  and 
with  peculiar  emphasis,  the  pastor  then  pronounced  the  name 
of  this  unknown  friend:  Jesus.  Now  I  was  not  in  any  way 
insulted  by  this,  as  people  imagined,  but  was  simply  dis- 
appointed; at  the  same  time,  I  thought  that  such  exhortations 
were  probably  usual  in  nuptial  addresses. 

But,  on  the  whole,  I  was  so  absent-minded  during  this 
ceremony,  which  was  double  Dutch  to  me,  that  when  the  parson 
held  out  the  closed  prayer-book  for  us  to  place  our  wedding 
rings  upon,  Minna  had  to  nudge  me  forcibly  to  make  me 
follow  her  example. 

"      "1 

At  that  moment  I  saw,  as  clearly  as  in  a  vision,  my  whol^ 
being    divided    into    two    cross-currents    that  >  dragged   me    iitt 
different  directions;  the  upper  one  faced  the  sun  and  carried! 
me  onward  like  a  dreamer,  whilst  the  lower  one  held  my  naturev 
captive,  a  prey  to  some  inexplicable  fear.     The  extraordinary/ 
levity  with  which  I  chased  away  the  conviction  which  kepi 
forcing  itself  upon  me,  that  I  was  committing  a  twofold  sin, 
was  amply  accounted  for  by  the  really  genuine  affection  with 
which  I  looked  upon  the  young  girl  whose  truly  exceptional 
character  (so  rare  in  the  environment  in  which  she  had  been 
placed)  led  her  thus  to  bind  herself  to  a  young  man  without 
any  means  of  support.     It  was  eleven  o'clock  on  the  morning  V 
of  the  24th  of  November,  1836,  and  I  was  twenty-three  and  a  j 
half. 

On  the  way  home  from  church,  and  afterwards,  my  good 
spirits  rose  superior  to  all  my  doubts. 

Minna  at  once  took  upon  herself  the  duty  of  receiving  and 
entertaining  her  guests.  The  table  was  spread,  and  a  rich 
feast,  at  which  Abraham  Moller,  the  energetic  promoter  of  our 
marriage,  also  took  part,  although  he  had  been  rather  put  out 
by  his  exclusion  from  the  church  ceremony,  made  up  for  the 
coldness  of  the  room,  which  for  a  long  time  refused  to  get  warm, 
to  the  great  distress  of  the  young  hostess. 

Everything  went  off  in  the  usual  uneventful  way.     Never- . 
theless,  I  retained  my  good  spirits  till  the  next  morning,  when  > 
I  had  to  present  myself  at  the  magistrate's  court  to  meet  the   • 
demands  of  my  creditors,  which  had  been  forwarded  to  me  from  ' 
Magdeburg  to  Konigsburg. 


166  MY   LIFE 

My  friend  Mb'ller,  whom  I  had  retained  for  my  defence,  had 
foolishly  advised  me  to  meet  my  creditors'  demands  by  plead- 
ing infancy  according  to  the  law  of  Prussia,  at  all  events  until 
actual  assistance  for  the  settlement  of  the  claims  could  be 
obtained. 

The  magistrate,  to  whom  I  stated  this  plea  as  I  had  been 
advised,  was  astonished,  being  probably  well  aware  of  my 
marriage  on  the  previous  day,  which  could  only  have  taken 
place  on  the  production  of  documentary  proof  of  my  majority. 
I  naturally  only  gained  a  brief  respite  by  this  manoeuvre,  and 
the  troubles  which  beset  me  for  a  long  time  afterwards  had 
their  origin  on  the  first  day  of  my  marriage. 

During  the  period  when  I  held  no  appointment  at  the  theatre 
I  suffered  various  humiliations.  Nevertheless,  I  thought  it 
wise  to  make  the  most  of  my  leisure  in  the  interests  of  my  art, 
and  I  finished  a  few  pieces,  among  which  was  a  grand  overture 
on  Bide  Britannia. 

When  I  was  still  in  Berlin  I  had  written  the  overture  entitled 
Polonia,  which  has  already  been  mentioned  in  connection 
with  the  Polish  festival.  Rule  Britannia  was  a  further  and 
deliberate  step  in  the  direction  of  mass  effects;  at  the  close  a 
strong  military  band  was  to  be  added  to  the  already  over-full 
orchestra,  and  I  intended  to  have  the  whole  thing  performed 
at  the  Musical  Festival  in  Konigsberg  in  the  summer. 

To  these  two  overtures  I  added  a  supplement  —  an  overture 
entitled  Napoleon.  The  point  to  which  I  devoted  my  chief 
attention  was  the  selection  of  the  means  for  producing  certain 
effects,  and  I  carefully  considered  whether  I  should  express 
the  annihilating  stroke  of  fate  that  befell  the  French  Emperor 
in  Russia  by  a  beat  on  the  tom-tom  or  not.  I  believe  it  was 
to  a  great  extent  my  scruples  about  the  introduction  of  this 
beat  that  prevented  me  from  carrying  out  my  plan  just  then. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  conclusions  which  I  had  reached 
regarding  the  ill-success  of  Liebesverbot  resulted  in  an  operatic 
sketch  in  which  the  demands  made  on  the  chorus  and  the  staff 
of  singers  should  be  more  in  proportion  to  the  known  capacity 
of  the  local  company,  as  this  small  theatre  was  the  only  one 
at  my  disposal. 

A  quaint  tale  from  the  Arabian  Nights  suggested  the  very 


A  BEAK  AT  THE  WEDDING  167 

subject  for  a  light  work  of  this  description,  the  title  of  which, 
if  1  remember  rightly,  was  Mimnerlist  grosser  als  Frauenlist 
('Man  outwits  Woman'). 

I  transplanted  the  story  from  Bagdad  to  a  modern  setting. 
A  young  goldsmith  offends  the  pride  of  a  young  woman  by 
placing  the  above  motto  on  the  sign  over  his  shop;  deeply 
veiled,  she  steps  into  his  shop  and  asks  him,  as  he  displays 
such  excellent  taste  in  his  work,  to  express  his  opinion  on  her 
own  physical  charms;  he  begins  with  her  feet  and  her  hands, 
and  finally,  noticing  his  confusion,  she  removes  the  veil  from 
her  face.  The  jeweller  is  carried  away  by  her  beauty,  where- 
upon she  complains  to  him  that  her  father,  who  has  always  kept 
her  in  the  strictest  seclusion,  describes  her  to  all  her  suitors 
as  an  ugly  monster,  his  object  being,  she  imagines,  simply  to 
keep  her  dowry.  The  young  man  swears  that  he  will  not  be 
frightened  off  by  these  foolish  objections,  should  the  father 
raise  them  against  his  suit.  No  sooner  said  than  done.  The 
daughter  of  this  peculiar  old  gentleman  is  promised  to  the 
unsuspecting  jeweller,  and  is  brought  to  her  bridegroom  as 
soon  as  he  has  signed  the  contract.  He  then  sees  that  the 
father  has  indeed  spoken  the  truth,  the  real  daughter  being  a 
perfect  scarecrow.  The  beautiful  lady  returns  to  the  bride- 
groom to  gloat  over  his  desperation,  and  promises  to  release 
him  from  his  terrible  marriage  if  he  will  remove  the  motto 
from  his  signboard.  At  this  point  I  departed  from  the  original, 
and  continued  as  follows:  The  enraged  jeweller  is  on  the 
point  of  tearing  down  his  unfortunate  signboard  when  a  curious 
apparition  leads  him  to  pause  in  the  act.  He  sees  a  bear- 
leader in  the  street  making  his  clumsy  beast  dance,  in  whom 
the  luckless  lover  recognises  at  a  glance  his  own  father,  from 
whom  he  has  been  parted  by  a  hard  fate. 

He  suppresses  any  sign  of  emotion,  for  in  a  flash  a  scheme 
occurs  to  him  by  which  he  can  utilise  this  discovery  to  free  him- 
self from  the  hated  marriage  with  the  daughter  of  the  proud 
old  aristocrat. 

He  instructs  the  bear-leader  to  come  that  evening  to  the 
garden  where  the  solemn  betrothal  is  to  take  place  in  the 
presence  of  the  invited  guests. 

He  then  explains  to  his  young  enemy  that  he  wishes  to  leave 


108  MY   LIFE 

the  signboard  up  for  the  time  being,  as  he  still  hopes  to  prove 
the  tmth  of  the  motto. 

After  the  marriage  contract,  in  which  the  young  man  arro- 
gates to  himself  all  kinds  of  fictitious  titles  of  nobility,  has  been 
read  to  the  assembled  company  (composed,  say,  of  the  elite 
of  the  noble  immigrants  at  the  time  of  the  French  Revolution), 
there  is  heard  suddenly  the  pipe  of  the  bear-leader,  who  enters 
the  garden  with  his  prancing  beast.  Angered  by  this  trivial 
diversion,  the  astonished  company  become  indignant  when  the 
bridegroom,  giving  free  vent  to  his  feelings,  throws  himself 
with  tears  of  joy  into  the  arms  of  the  bear-leader  and  loudly 
proclaims  him  as  his  long-lost  father.  The  consternation  of 
the  company  becomes  even  greater,  however,  when  the  bear 
itself  embraces  the  man  they  supposed  to  be  of  noble  birth, 
for  the  beast  is  no  less  a  person  than  his  own  brother  in  the 
flesh  who,  on  the  death  of  the  real  bear,  had  donned  its  skin, 
thus  enabling  the  poverty-stricken  pair  to  continue  to  earn 
their  livelihood  in  the  only  way  left  to  them.  This  public 
disclosure  of  the  bridegroom's  lowly  origin  at  once  dissolves 
the  marriage,  and  the  young  woman,  declaring  herself  out- 
witted by  man,  offers  her  hand  in  compensation  to  the  released 
jeweller. 

To  this  unassuming  subject  I  gave  the  title  of  the  Gluckliclie 
Barenfamilie,  and  provided  it  with  a  dialogue  which  afterwards 
met  with  Holtei's  highest  approval. 

I  was  about  to  begin  the  music  for  it  in  a  new  light  French 
style,  but  the  seriousness  of  my  position,  which  grew  more  and 
more  acute,  prevented  further  progress  in  my  work. 

In  this  respect  my  strained  relations  with  the  conductor 
of  the  theatre  were  still  a  constant  source  of  trouble.  With 
neither  the  opportunity  nor  the  means  to  defend  myself,  I 
had  to  submit  to  being  maligned  and  rendered  an  object  of 
suspicion  on  all  sides  by  my  rival,  who  remained  master  of  the 
field.  The  object  of  this  was  to  disgust  me  with  the  idea  of 
taking  up  my  appointment  as  musical  conductor,  for  which 
the  contract  had  been  signed  for  Easter.  Though  I  did  not 
lose  my  self-confidence,  I  suffered  keenly  from  the  indignity 
and  the  depressing  effect  of  this  prolonged  strain. 

When  at  last,  at  the  beginning  of  April,  the  moment  arrived 


CONDUCTOR  AT  KONIGSBERG   (1837)        169 

for  the  musical  conductor  Schubert  to  resign,  and  for  me  to 
take  over  the  whole  charge,  he  had  the  melancholy  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  not  only  was  the  standing  of  the  opera  seri- 
ously weakened  by  the  departure  of  the  prima  donna,  but  that 
there  was  good  reason  to  doubt  whether  the  theatre  could  be 
carried  on  at  all.  This  month  of  Lent,  which  was  such  a  bad 
time  in  Germany  for  all  similar  theatrical  enterprises,  decimated 
the  Konigsberg  audience  with  the  rest.  The  director  took  the 
greatest  trouble  imaginable  to  fill  up  the  gaps  in  the  staff  of 
the  opera  by  means  of  engaging  strangers  temporarily,  and  by 
new  acquisitions,  and  in  this  my  personality  and  unflagging 
activity  were  of  real  service;  I  devoted  all  my  energy  to 
buoying  up  by  word  and  deed  the  tattered  ship  of  the  theatre, 
in  which  I  now  had  a  hand  for  the  first  time. 

For  a  long  time  I  had  to  try  and  keep  cool  under  the  most 
violent  treatment  by  a  clique  of  students,  among  whom  my 
predecessor  had  raised  up  enemies  for  me ;  and  by  the  unerring 
certainty  of  my  conducting  I  had  to  overcome  the  initial 
opposition  of  the  orchestra,  which  had  been  set  against  me. 

After  laboriously  laying  the  foundation  of  personal  respect, 
I  was  now  forced  to  realise  that  the  business  methods  of  the 
director,  Hiibsch,  had  already  involved  too  great  a  sacrifice  to 
permit  the  theatre  to  make  its  way  against  the  unfavourable- 
ness  of  the  season,  and  in  May  he  admitted  to  me  that  he  had 
come  to  the  point  of  being  obliged  to  close  the  theatre. 

By  summoning  up  all  my  eloquence,  and  by  making  sugges- 
tions which  promised  a  happy  issue,  I  was  able  to  induce  him 
to  persevere ;  nevertheless,  this  was  only  possible  by  making 
demands  on  the  loyalty  of  his  company,  who  were  asked  to 
forego  part  of  their  salaries  for  a  time.  This  aroused  general 
bitterness  on  the  part  of  the  uninitiated,  and  I  found  myself 
in  the  curious  position  of  being  forced  to  place  the  director  in 
a  favourable  light  to  those  who  were  hard  hit  by  these  measures, 
while  I  myself  and  my  position  were  affected  in  such  a  manner 
that  my  situation  became  daily  more  unendurable  under  the 
accumulation  of  intolerable  difficulties  taking  their  root  in  my 
past. 

But  though  I  did  not  even  then  lose  courage,  Minna,  who  as 
my  wife  was  robbed  of  all  that  she  had  a  right  to  expect, 


MY   LIFE 

found  this  turn  of  fate  quite  unbearable.  The  hidden  canker 
of  our  married  life  which,  even  before  our  marriage,  had  caused 
me  the  most  terrible  anxiety  and  led  to  violent  scenes,  reached 
its  full  growth  under  these  sad  conditions.  The  less  I  was  able 
to  maintain  the  standard  of  comfort  due  to  our  position  by 
working  and  making  the  most  of  my  talents,  the  more  did 
Minna,  to  my  insufferable  shame,  consider  it  necessary  to 
take  this  burden  upon  herself  by  making  the  most  of  her 
personal  popularity.  The  discovery  of  similar  condescensions 
—  as  I  used  to  call  them  —  on  Minna's  part,  had  repeatedly 
led  to  revolting  scenes,  and  only  her  peculiar  conception  of 
her  professional  position  and  the  needs  it  involved  had  made  a 
charitable  interpretation  possible. 

I  was  absolutely  unable  to  bring  my  young  wife  to  see  my 
point  of  view,  or  to  make  her  realise  my  own  wounded  feelings 
on  these  occasions,  while  the  unrestrained  violence  of  my 
speech  and  behaviour  made  an  understanding  once  and  for  all 
impossible.  These  scenes  frequently  sent  my  wife  into  con- 
vulsions of  so  alarming  a  nature  that,  as  will  easily  be  realised, 
the  satisfaction  of  reconciling  her  once  more  was  all  that 
remained  to  me.  Certain  it  was  that  our  mutual  attitude 
became  more  and  more  incomprehensible  and  inexplicable  to 
us  both. 

These  quarrels,  which  now  became  more  frequent  and  more 
distressing,  may  have  gone  far  to  diminish  the  strength  of  any 
affection  which  Minna  was  able  to  give  me,  but  I  had  no  idea 
that  she  was  only  waiting  for  a  favourable  opportunity  to  come 
to  a  desperate  decision. 

To  fill  the  place  of  tenor  in  our  company,  I  had  summoned 
Friedrich  Schmitt  to  Kb'nigsberg,  a  friend  of  my  first  year  in 
Magdeburg,  to  whom  allusion  has  already  been  made.  He 
was  sincerely  devoted  to  me,  and  helped  me  as  much  as  possible 
in  overcoming  the  dangers  which  threatened  the  prosperity 
of  the  theatre  as  well  as  my  own  position. 

The  necessity  of  being  on  friendly  terms  with  the  public 
made  me  much  less  reserved  and  cautious  in  making  new 
acquaintances,  especially  when  in  his  company. 

A  rich  merchant,  of  the  name  of  Dietrich,  had  recently 
constituted  himself  a  patron  of  the  theatre,  and  especially  of 


MINNA  SUSPECTED 

the  women.  With  due  deference  to  the  men  with  whom  they 
were  connected,  he  used  to  invite  the  pick  of  these  ladies  to 
dinner  at  his  house,  and  affected,  on  these  occasions,  the  well- 
to-do  Englishman,  which  was  the  beau-ideal  for  German 
merchants,  especially  in  the  manufacturing  towns  of  the 
north. 

I  had  shown  my  annoyance  at  the  acceptance  of  the  invita- 
tion, sent  to  us  among  the  rest,  at  first  simply  because  his  looks 
were  repugnant  to  me.  Minna  considered  this  very  unjust. 
Anyhow,  I  set  my  face  decidedly  against  continuing  our 
acquaintance  with  this  man,  and  although  Minna  did  not 
insist  on  receiving  him,  my  conduct  towards  the  intruder  was 
the  cause  of  angry  scenes  between  us. 

One  day  Friedrich  Schmitt  considered  it  his  duty  to  inform 
me  that  this  Herr  Dietrich  had  spoken  of  me  at  a  public  dinner 
in  such  a  manner  as  to  lead  every  one  to  suppose  that  he  had 
a  suspicious  intimacy  with  my  wife.  I  felt  obliged  to  suspect 
Minna  of  having,  in  some  way  unknown  to  me,  told  the  fellow 
about  my  conduct  towards  her,  as  well  as  about  our  precarious 
position. 

Accompanied  by  Schmitt,  I  called  this  dangerous  person  to 
account  on  the  subject  in  his  own  home.  At  first  this  only 
led  to  the  usual  denials.  Afterwards,  however,  he  sent  secret 
communications  to  Minna  concerning  the  interview,  thus  pro- 
viding her  with  a  supposed  new  grievance  against  me  in  the 
form  of  my  inconsiderate  treatment  of  her. 

Our  relations  now  reached  a  critical  stage,  and  on  certain 
points  we  preserved  silence. 

At  the  same  time  —  it  was  towards  the  end  of  May,  1837  — 
the  business  affairs  of  the  theatre  had  reached  the  crisis  above 
mentioned,  when  the  management  was  obliged  to  fall  back 
on  the  self-sacrificing  co-operation  of  the  staff  to  assure  the 
continuance  of  the  undertaking.  As  I  have  said  before,  my 
own  position  at  the  end  of  a  year  so  disastrous  to  my  welfare 
was  seriously  affected  by  this;  nevertheless,  there  seemed  to 
be  no  alternative  for  me  but  to  face  these  difficulties  patiently, 
and  relying  on  the  faithful  Friedrich  Schmitt,  but  ignoring 
Minna,  I  began  to  take  the  necessary  steps  for  making  my 
post  at  Kb'nigsberg  secure.  This,  as  well  as  the  arduous  part 


172  MY   LIFE 

I  took  in  the  business  of  the  theatre,  kept  me  so  busy  and  so 
much  away  from  home,  that  I  was  not  able  to  pay  any  par- 
ticular attention  to  Minna's  silence  and  reserve. 

On  the  morning  of  the  31st  of  May  I  took  leave  of  Minna, 
expecting  to  be  detained  till  late  in  the  afternoon  by  rehearsals 
and  business  matters.  With  my  entire  approval  she  had  for 
some  time  been  accustomed  to  have  her  daughter  Nathalie, 
who  was  supposed  by  every  one  to  be  her  youngest  sister,  to 
stay  with  her. 

As  I  was  about  to  wish  them  my  usual  quiet  good-bye,  the 
two  women  rushed  after  me  to  the  door  and  embraced  me 
passionately,  Minna  as  well  as  her  daughter  bursting  into  tears. 
I  was  alarmed,  and  asked  the  meaning  of  this  excitement,  but 
could  get  no  answer  from  them,  and  I  was  obliged  to  leave 
them  and  ponder  alone  over  their  peculiar  conduct,  of  the 
reason  for  which  I  had  not  even  the  faintest  idea. 

I  arrived  home  late  in  the  afternoon,  worn  out  by  my  exer- 
tions and  worries,  dead-tired,  pale  and  hungry,  and  was 
surprised  to  find  the  table  not  laid  and  Minna  not  at  home, 
the  maid  telling  me  that  she  had  not  yet  returned  from  her 
walk  with  Nathalie. 

I  waited  patiently,  sinking  down  exhausted  at  the  work- 
table,  which  I  absent-mindedly  opened.  To  my  intense  as- 
tonishment it  was  empty.  Horror-struck,  I  sprang  up  and 
went  to  the  wardrobe,  and  realised  at  once  that  Minna  had 
left  the  house;  her  departure  had  been  so  cunningly  planned 
that  even  the  maid  was  unaware  of  it. 

With  death  in  my  soul  I  dashed  out  of  the  house  to  investi- 
gate the  cause  of  Minna's  disappearance. 

Old  Moller,  by  his  practical  sagacity,  very  soon  found  out 
that  Dietrich,  his  personal  enemy,  had  left  Konigsberg  in  the 
direction  of  Berlin  by  the  special  coach  in  the  morning. 

This  horrible  fact  stood  staring  me  in  the  face. 

I  had  now  to  try  and  overtake  the  fugitives.  With  the 
lavish  use  of  money  this  might  have  been  possible,  but  funds 
were  lacking,  and  had,  in  part,  to  be  laboriously  collected. 

On  Moller's  advice  I  took  the  silver  wedding  presents  with 
me  in  case  of  emergency,  and  after  the  lapse  of  a  few  terrible 
hours  went  off,  also  by  special  coach,  with  my  distressed  old 


PUKSUIT  OF  MINNA  173 

friend.  We  hoped  to  overtake  the  ordinary  mail-coach,  which 
had  started  a  short  time  before,  as  it  was  probable  that  Minna 
would  also  continue  her  journey  in  this,  at  a  safe  distance  from 
Konigsberg. 

This  proved  impossible,  and  when  next  morning  at  break 
of  day  we  arrived  in  Elbing,  we  found  our  money  exhausted 
by  the  lavish  use  of  the  express  coach,  and  were  compelled 
to  return;  we  discovered,  moreover,  that  even  by  using  the 
ordinary  coach  we  should  be  obliged  to  pawn  the  sugar-basin 
and  cake-dish. 

This  return  journey  to  Konigsberg  rightly  remains  one  of 
the  saddest  memories  of  my  youth.  Of  course,  I  did  not  for"^ 
a  moment  entertain  the  idea  of  remaining  in  the  place;  my 
one  thought  was  how  I  could  best  get  away.  Hemmed  in 
between  the  Jaw-=s.uits-  .  of  -my  Magdeburg  .creditors  and  the 
tradesmen,  who  had  claims  on  me  for  the  payment 


by  instalment  of  my  domestic  accounts,  my  departure  could 
only  be  carried  out  in  secrecy.  For  this  very  reason,  too,  it 
was  necessary  for  me  to  raise  money,  particularly  for  the  long 
journey  from  Konigsberg  to  Dresden,  whither  I  determined  to 
go  in  quest  of  my  wife,  and  these  matters  detained  me  for  two 
long  and  terrible  days. 

I  received  no  news  whatever  from  Minna;  from  Moller  I 
ascertained  that  she  had  gone  to  Dresden,  and  that  Dietrich 
had  only  accompanied  her  for  a  short  distance  on  the  excuse 
of  helping  her  in  a  friendly  way. 

I  succeeded  in  assuring  myself  that  she  really  only  wished  to 
get  away  from  a  position  that  filled  her  with  desperation,  and 
for  this  purpose  had  accepted  the  assistance  of  a  man  who 
sympathised  with  her,  and  that  she  was  for  the  present  seeking 
rest  and  shelter  with  her  parents.  My  first  indignation  at  the 
event  accordingly  subsided  to  such  an  extent  that  I  gradually 
acquired  more  sympathy  for  her  in  her  despair,  and  began  to 
reproach  myself  both  for  my  conduct  and  for  having  brought 
unhappiness  on  her. 

I  became  so  convinced  of  the  correctness  of  this  view  during 
the  tedious  journey  to  Dresden  via  Berlin,  which  I  eventually 
undertook  on  the  3rd  of  June,  that  when  at  last  I  found 
Minna  at  the  humble  abode  of  her  parents,  I  was  really  quite 


'MY  LIFE 

unable  to  express  anything  but  repentence   and  heartbroken 

sympathy. 

It  was  quite  true  that  Minna  thought  herself  badly  treated 
by  me,  and  declared  that  she  had  only  been  forced  to  take  this 
desperate  step  by  brooding  over  our  impossible  position,  to 
which  she  thought  me  both  blind  and  deaf.  Her  parents  were 
not  pleased  to  see  me:  the  painfully  excited  condition  of  their 
daughter  seemed  to  afford  sufficient  justification  for  her  com- 
plaints against  me.  Whether  my  own  sufferings,  my  hasty 
pursuit,  and  the  heartfelt  expression  of  my  grief  made  any 
favourable  impression  on  her,  I  can  really  hardly  say,  as  her 
manner  towards  me  was  very  confused  and,  to  a  certain  extent, 
incomprehensible.  Still  she  was  impressed  when  I  told  her 
that  there  was  a  good  prospect  of  my  obtaining  the  post  of 
musical  conductor  at  Riga,  where  a  new  theatre  was  about  to 
be  opened  under  the  most  favourable  conditions.  I  felt  that 
I  must  not  press  for  new  resolutions  concerning  the  regulation 
of  our  future  relations  just  then,  but  must  strive  the  more 
earnestly  to  lay  a  better  foundation  for  them.  Consequently, 
after  spending  a  fearful  week  with  my  wife  under  the  most 
painful  conditions,  I  went  to  Berlin,  there  to  sign  my  agree- 
ment with  the  new  director  of  the  Riga  theatre.  I  obtained 
the  appointment  on  fairly  favourable  terms  which,  I  saw, 
would  enable  me  to  keep  house  in  such  a  style  that  Minna 
could  retire  from  the  theatre  altogether.  By  this  means  she 
would  be  in  a  position  to  spare  me  all  humiliation  and  anxiety. 

On  returning  to  Dresden,  I  found  that  Minna  was  ready  to 
lend  a  willing  ear  to  my  proposed  plans,  and  I  succeeded 
in  inducing  her  to  leave  her  parents'  house,  which  was  very 
cramped  for  us,  and  to  establish  herself  in  the  country  at 
Blasewitz,  near  Dresden,  to  await  our  removal  to  Riga.  We 
found  modest  lodgings  at  an  inn  on  the  Elbe,  in  the  farm- 
yard of  which  I  had  often  played  as  a  child.  Here  Minna's 
frame  of  mind  really  seemed  to  be  improving.  She  had 
begged  me  not  to  press  her  too  hard,  and  I  spared  her  as 
much  as  possible.  After  a  few  weeks  I  thought  I  might  con- 
sider the  period  of  uneasiness  past,  but  was  surprised  to  find 
the  situation  growing  worse  again  without  any  apparent  reason. 
Minna  then  told  me  of  some  advantageous  offers  she  lui  I 


DIETRICH  AND  MINNA  175 

received  from  different  theatres,  and  astonished  me  one  day 
by  announcing  her  intention  of  taking  a  short  pleasure  trip 
with  a  girl  friend  and  her  family.  As  I  felt  obliged  to  avoid 
putting  any  restraint  upon  her,  I  offered  no  objection  to  the 
execution  of  this  project,  which  entailed  a  week's  separation, 
but  accompanied  her  back  to  her  parents  myself,  promising 
to  await  her  return  quietly  at  Blasewitz.  A  few  days  later 
her  eldest  sister  called  to  ask  me  for  the  written  permission 
required  to  make  out  a  passport  for  my  wife.  This  alarmed  me, 
and  I  went  to  Dresden  to  ask  her  parents  what  their  daughter 
was  about.  There,  to  my  surprise,  I  met  with  a  very  un- 
pleasant reception;  they  reproached  me  coarsely  for  my 
behaviour  to  Minna,  whom  they  said  I  could  not  even  manage 
to  support,  and  when  I  only  replied  by  asking  for  information 
as  to  the  whereabouts  of  my  wife,  and  about  her  plans  for  the 
future,  I  was  put  off  with  improbable  statements.  Tormented 
by  the  sharpest  forebodings,  and  understanding  nothing  of 
what  had  occurred,  I  went  back  to  the  village,  where  I  found 
a  letter  from  Konigsberg,  from  Mb'ller,  which  poured  light  on 
all  my  misery.  Herr  Dietrich  had  gone  to  Dresden,  and  I 
was  told  the  name  of  the  hotel  at  which  he  was  staying.  The 
terrible  illumination  thrown  by  this  communication  upon 
Minna's  conduct  showed  me  in  a  flash  what  to  do.  I  hurried 
into  town  to  make  the  necessary  inquiries  at  the  hotel 
mentioned,  and  found  that  the  man  in  question  had  been  there, 
but  had  moved  on  again.  He  had  vanished,  and  Minna  too! 
I  now  knew  enough  to  demand  of  the  Fates  why,  at  such  an 
early  age,  they  had  sent  me  this  terrible  experience  which,  as 
it  seemed  to  me,  had  poisoned  my  whole  existence. 

I  sought  consolation  for  my  boundless  grief  in  the  society 
of  my  sister  Ottilie  and  her  husband,  Hermann  Brockhaus,  an 
excellent  fellow  to  whom  she  had  been  married  for  some  years. 
They  were  then  living  at  their  pretty  summer  villa  in  the 
lovely  Grosser  Garten,  near  Dresden.  I  had  looked  them  up 
at  once  the  first  time  I  went  to  Dresden,  but  as  I  had  not  at 
that  time  the  slightest  idea  of  how  things  were  going  to  turn 
out,  I  had  told  them  nothing,  and  had  seen  but  little  of  them. 
Now  I  was  moved  to  break  my  obstinate  silence,  and  unfold 
to  them  the  cause  of  my  misery,  with  but  few  reservations. 


!76  MY   LIFE 

For  the  first  time  I  was  in  a  position  gratefully  to  appreciate 
the  advantages  of  family  intercourse,  and  of  the  direct  and 
disinterested  intimacy  between  blood  relations.  Explanations 
were  hardly  necessary,  and  as  brother  and  sister  we  found 
ourselves  as  closely  linked  now  as  we  had  been  when  we  were 
children.  We  arrived  at  a  complete  understanding  without 
having  to  explain  what  we  meant;  I  was  unhappy,  she  was 
happy;  consolation  and  help  followed  as  a  matter  of  course. 

This  was  the  sister  to  whom  I  once  had  read  Leubald  und 
Adelaide  in  a  thunderstorm;  the  sister  who  had  listened, 
filled  with  astonishment  and  sympathy,  to  that  eventful 
performance  of  my  first  overture  on  Christmas  Eve,  and  whom 
I  now  found  married  to  one  of  the  kindest  of  men,  Hermann 
Brockhaus,  who  soon  earned  a  reputation  for  himself  as  an 
expert  in  oriental  languages.  He  was  the  youngest  brother 
of  my  elder  brother-in-law,  Friedrich  Brockhaus.  Their  union 
was  blessed  by  two  children;  their  comfortable  means 
favoured  a  life  free  from  care,  and  when  I  made  my  daily 
pilgrimage  from  Blasewitz  to  the  famous  Grosser  Garten,  it 
was  like  stepping  from  a  desert  into  paradise  to  enter  their 
house  (one  of  the  popular  villas),  knowing  that  I  would  invari- 
ably find  a  welcome  in  this  happy  family  circle.  Kot  only 
was  my  spirit  soothed  and  benefited  by  intercourse  with  my 
sister,  but  my  creative  instincts,  which  had  long  lain  dormant, 
were  stimulated  afresh  by  the  society  of  my  brilliant  and 
learned  brother-in-law.  It  was  brought  home  to  me,  without 
in  any  way  hurting  my  feelings,  that  my  early  marriage,  excus- 
able as  it  may  have  been,  was  yet  an  error  to  be  retrieved,  and 
my  mind  regained  sufficient  elasticity  to  compose  some  sketches, 
designed  this  time  not  merely  to  meet  the  requirements  of  the 
theatre  as  I  knew  it  During  the  last  wretched  days  I  had 
spent  with  Minna  at  Blasewitz,  I  had  read  Bulwer  Lytton's 
novel,  Rienzi;  during  my  convalescence  in  the  bosom  of  my 
sympathetic  family,  I  now  worked  out  the  scheme  for  a  grand 
opera  under  the  inspiration  of  this  book.  Though  obliged  for 
the  present  to  return  to  the  limitations  of  a  small  theatre,  I 
tried  from  this  time  onwards  to  aim  at  enlarging  my  sphere 
of  action.  I  sent  my  overture,  Rule  Britannia,  to  the 
Philharmonic  Society  in  London,  and  tried  to  get  into  com- 


MINNA'S   SISTER  177 

munication  with.  Scribe  in  Paris  about  a  setting  for  H.  Konig's 
novel,  Die  Hohe  Braut,  which  I  had  sketched  out. 

Thus  I  spent  the  remainder  of  this  summer  of  ever-happy 
memory.  At  the  end  of  August  I  had  to  leave  for  Riga  to  take 
up  my  new  appointment.  Although  I  knew  that  my  sister 
Rosalie  had  shortly  before  married  the  man  of  her  choice, 
Professor  Oswald  Marbach  of  Leipzig,  I  avoided  that  city, 
probably  with  the  foolish  notion  of  sparing  myself  any  humilia- 
tion, and  went  straight  to  Berlin,  where  I  had  to  receive  certain 
additional  instructions  from  my  future  director,  and  also  to 
obtain  my  passport.  There  I  met  a  younger  sister  of  Minna's, 
Amalie  Planer,  a  singer  with  a  pretty  voice,  who  had  joined  our 
opera  company  at  Magdeburg  for  a  short  time.  My  report  of 
Minna  quite  overwhelmed  this  exceedingly  kind-hearted  girl. 
We  went  to  a  performance  of  Fidelio  together,  during  which 
she,  like  myself,  burst  into  tears  and  sobs.  Refreshed  by  the 
sympathetic  impression  I  had  received,  I  went  by  way  of 
Schwerin,  where  I  was  disappointed  in  my  hopes  of  finding 
traces  of  Minna,  to  Liibeck,  to  wait  for  a  merchant  ship  going 
to  Riga.  We  had  set  sail  for  Travemiinde  when  an  unfavour- 
able wind  set  in,  and  held  up  our  departure  for  a  week:  I  had 
to  spend  this  disagreeable  time  in  a  miserable  ship's  tavern. 
Thrown  on  my  own  resources  I  tried,  amongst  other  things,  to 
read  Till  Eulenspiegel,  and  this  popular  book  first  gave  me  the 
idea  of  a  real  German  comic  opera.  Long  afterwards,  when  I 
was  composing  the  words  for  my  Junger  Siegfried,  I  remember 
having  many  vivid  recollections  of  this  melancholy  sojourn 
in  Travemiinde  and  my  reading  of  Till  Eulenspiegel.  After  a 
voyage  of  four  days  we  at  last  reached  port  at  Bolderaa.  I 
was  conscious  of  a  peculiar  thrill  on  coming  into  contact  with 
Russian  officials,  whom  I  had  instinctively  detested  since  the 
days  of  my  sympathy  with  the  Poles  as  a  boy.  It  seemed  to 
me  as  if  the  harbour  police  must  read  enthusiasm  for  the 
Poles  in  my  face,  and  would  send  me  to  Siberia  on  the  spot, 
and  I  was  the  more  agreeably  surprised,  on  reaching  Riga, 
to  find  myself  surrounded  by  the  familiar  German  element 
which,  above  all,  pervaded  everything  connected  with  the 
theatre. 

After  my  unfortunate  experiences  in  connection  with  the 


178  MY   LIFE 

conditions  of  small  German  stages,  the  way  in  which  this  newly 
opened  theatre  was  run  had  at  first  a  calming  effect  on  my  mind. 
A  society  had  been  formed  by  a  number  of  well-to-do  theatre- 
goers and  rich  business  men  to  raise,  by  voluntary  subscription, 
sufficient  money  to  provide  the  sort  of  management  they  re- 
garded as  ideal  with  a  solid  foundation.  The  director  they 
appointed  was  Karl  von  Holtei,  a  fairly  popular  dramatic 
writer,  who  enjoyed  a  certain  reputation  in  the  theatrical 
world.  This  man's  ideas  about  the  stage  represented  a  special 
tendency,  which  was  at  that  time  on  the  decline.  He 
possessed,  in  addition  to  his  remarkable  social  gifts,  an  extra- 
ordinary acquaintance  with  all  the  principal  people  connected 
with  the  theatre  during  the  past  twenty  years,  and  belonged  to 
a  society  called  Die  Liebenswurdigen  Libertins  ('  The  Amiable 
Libertines').  This  was  a  set  of  young  would-be  wits,  who 
looked  upon  the  stage  as  a  playground  licensed  by  the  public 
for  the  display  of  their  mad  pranks,  from  which  the  middle 
class  held  aloof,  while  people  of  culture  were  steadily  losing  all 
interest  in  the  theatre  under  these  hopeless  conditions. 

Holtei's  wife  had  in  former  days  been  a  popular  actress  at 
the  Kb'nigstadt  theatre  in  Berlin,  and  it  was  here,  at  the  time 
when  Henriette  Sontag  raised  it  to  the  height  of  its  fame, 
that  Holtei's  style  had  been  formed.  The  production  there  of 
his  melodrama  Leonore  (founded  on  Burger's  ballad)  had  in 
particular  earned  him  a  wide  reputation  as  a  writer  for  the 
stage,  besides  which  he  produced  some  Liederspiele,  and  among 
them  one,  entitled  Der  Alte  Feldherr,  became  fairly  popular. 
His  invitation  to  Riga  had  been  particularly  welcome,  as  it 
bid  fair  to  gratify  his  craving  to  absorb  himself  completely 
in  the  life  of  the  stage;  he  hoped,  in  this  out-of-the-way 
place,  to  indulge  his  passion  without  restraint.  His  peculiar 
familiarity  of  manner,  his  inexhaustible  store  of  amusing  small 
talk,  and  his  airy  way  of  doing  business,  gave  him  a  remark- 
able hold  on  the  tradespeople  of  Riga,  who  wished  for  nothing 
better  than  such  entertainment  as  he  was  able  to  give  them. 
They  provided  him  liberally  with  all  the  necessary  means  and 
treated  him  in  every  respect  with  entire  confidence.  Under 
his  auspices  my  own  engagement  had  been  very  easily  secured. 
Surly  old  pedants  he  would  have  none  of,  favouring  young  men 


THE    THEATRE    OPENS  1T9 

on  the  score  of  their  youth  alone.  As  far  as  I  myself  was 
concerned,  it  was  enough  for  him  to  know  that  I  belonged  to 
a  family  which  he  knew  and  liked,  and  hearing,  moreover,  of 
my  fervent  devotion  to  modern  Italian  and  French  music  in 
particular,  he  decided  that  I  was  the  very  man  for  him.  He 
had  the  whole  shoal  of  Bellini's,  Donizetti's,  Adam's,  and 
Auber's  operatic  scores  copied  out,  and  I  was  to  give  the  good 
people  of  Riga  the  benefit  of  them  with  all  possible  speed. 

The  first  time  I  visited  Holtei  I  met  an  old  Leipzig  acquaint- 
ance, Heinrich  Dorn,  my  former  mentor,  who  now  held  the  per- 
manent municipal  appointment  of  choir-master  at  the  church 
and  music-teacher  in  the  schools.  He  was  pleased  to  find  his 
curious  pupil  transformed  into  a  practical  opera  conductor  of 
independent  position,  and  no  less  surprised  to  see  the  eccentric 
worshipper  of  Beethoven  changed  into  an  ardent  champion  of 
Bellini  and  Adam.  He  took  me  home  to  his  summer  residence, 
which  was  built,  according  to  Riga  phraseology,  '  in  the  fields,' 
that  is  literally,  on  the  sand.  While  I  was  giving  him  some 
account  of  the  experiences  through  which  I  had  passed,  I  grew 
conscious  of  the  strangely  deserted  look  of  the  place.  Feeling 
frightened  and  homeless,  my  initial  uneasiness  gradually  devel- 
oped into  a  passionate  longing  to  escape  from  all  the  whirl  of 
theatrical  life  which  had  wooed  me  to  such  inhospitable  regions. 
This  uneasy  mood  was  fast  dispelling  the  flippancy  which  at 
Magdeburg  had  led  to  my  being  dragged  down  to  the  level 
of  the  most  worthless  stage  society,  and  had  also  conduced  to 
spoil  my  musical  taste.  It  also  contained  the  germs  of  a  new 
tendency  which  developed  during  the  period  of  my  activity 
at  Riga,  brought  me  more  and  more  out  of  touch  with  the 
theatre,  thereby  causing  Director  Holtei  all  the  annoyance 
which  inevitably  attends  disappointment. 

For  some  time,  however,  I  found  no  difficulty  in  making  the 
best  of  a  bad  bargain.  We  were  obliged  to  open  the  theatre 
before  the  company  was  complete.  To  make  this  possible,  we 
gave  a  performance  of  a  short  comic  opera  by  C.  Blum,  called 
Marie,  Max  und  Michel,  For  this  work  I  composed  an  addi- 
tional air  for  a  song  which  Holtei  had  written  for  the  bass 
singer,  Giinther ;  it  consisted  of  a  sentimental  introduction  and 
a  gay  military  rondo,  and  was  very  much  appreciated.  Later  on, 


180  MY   LIFE 

I  introduced  another  additional  song  into  the  Schweizerfamilie, 
to  be  sung  by  another  bass  singer,  Scheibler;  it  was  of  a  devo- 
tional character,  and  pleased  not  only  the  public,  but  myself, 
and  showed  signs  of  the  upheaval  which  was  gradually  taking 
place  in  my  musical  development.  I  was  entrusted  with  the 
composition  of  a  tune  for  a  National  Hymn  written  by  Brakel 
in  honour  of  the  Tsar  Nicholas's  birthday.  I  tried  to  give  it 
as  far  as  possible  the  right  colouring  for  a  despotic  patriarchal 
monarch,  and  once  again  I  achieved  some  fame,  for  it  was  sung 
for  several  successive  years  on  that  particular  day.  Holtei 
tried  to  persuade  me  to  write  a  bright,  gay  comic  opera,  or 
rather  a  musical  play,  to  be  performed  by  our  company  just 
as  it  stood.  I  looked  up  the  libretto  of  my  Gluckliche  Bdren- 
familie,  and  found  Holtei  very  well  disposed  towards  it  (as  I 
have  stated  elsewhere)  ;  but  when  I  unearthed  the  little  music 
which  I  had  already  composed  for  it,  I  was  overcome  with  dis- 
gust at  this  way  of  writing ;  whereupon  I  made  a  present  of  the 
book  to  my  clumsy,  good-natured  friend,  Lobmann,  my  right- 
hand  man  in  the  orchestra,  and  never  gave  it  another  thought 
from  that  day  to  this.  I  managed,  however,  to  get  to  work  on 
the  libretto  of  Rienzi,  which  I  had  sketched  out  at  Blasewitz. 
I  developed  it  from  every  point  of  view,  on  so  extravagant  a 
scale,  that  with  this  work  I  deliberately  cut  off  all  possibility 
of  being  tempted  by  circumstances  to  produce  it  anywhere  but 
on  one  of  the  largest  stages  in  Europe. 

But  while  this  helped  to  strengthen  my  endeavour  to  escape 
from  all  the  petty  degradations  of  stage  life,  new  complications 
arose  which  affected  me  more  and  more  seriously,  and  offered 
further  opposition  to  my  aims.  The  prima  donna  engaged  by 
Holtei  had  failed  us,  and  we  were  therefore  without  a  singer 
for  grand  opera.  Under  the  circumstances,  Holtei  joyfully 
agreed  to  my  proposal  to  ask  Amalie,  Minna's  sister  (who  was 
glad  to  accept  an  engagement  that  brought  her  near  me),  to 
come  to  Riga  at  once.  In  her  answer  to  me  from  Dresden, 
where  she  was  then  living,  she  informed  me  of  Minna's  return 
to  her  parents,  and  of  her  present  miserable  condition  owing  to 
a  severe  illness.  I  naturally  took  this  piece  of  news  very  coolly, 
for  what  I  had  heard  about  Minna  since  she  left  me  for  the  last 
time  had  forced  me  to  authorise  my  old  friend  at  Konigsberg 


MINNA   COMES    TO   KIGA  181 

to  take  steps  to  procure  a  divorce.  It  was  certain  that  Minna 
had  stayed  for  some  time  at  a  hotel  in  Hamburg  with  that  ill- 
omened  man,  Herr  Dietrich,  and  that  she  had  spread  ahroad 
the  story  of  our  separation  so  unreservedly  that  the  theatrical 
world  in  particular  had  discussed  it  in  a  manner  that  was 
positively  insulting  to  me.  I  simply  informed  Amalie  of  this, 
and  requested  her  to  spare  me  any  further  news  of  her 
sister. 

Hereupon  Minna  herself  appealed  to  me,  and  wrote  me  a 
positively  heartrending  letter,  in  which  she  openly  confessed  her 
infidelity.  She  declared  that  she  had  been  driven  to  it  by 
despair,  but  that  the  great  trouble  she  had  thus  brought  upon 
herself  having  taught  her  a  lesson,  all  she  now  wished  was  to 
return  to  the  right  path.  Taking  everything  into  account, 
I  concluded  that  she  had  been  deceived  in  the  character  of  her 
seducer,  and  the  knowledge  of  her  terrible  position  had  placed 
her  both  morally  and  physically  in  a  most  lamentable  con- 
dition, in  which,  now  ill  and  wretched,  she  turned  to  me  again 
to  acknowledge  her  guilt,  crave  my  forgiveness,  and  assure  me, 
in  spite  of  all,  that  she  had  now  become  fully  aware  of  her  love 
for  me.  Never  before  had  I  heard  such  sentiments  from  Minna, 
nor  was  I  ever  to  hear  the  same  from  her  again,  save  on  one 
touching  occasion  many  years  later,  when  similar  outpourings 
moved  and  affected  me  in  the  same  way  as  this  particular  letter 
had  done.  In  reply  I  told  her  that  there  should  never  again 
be  any  mention  between  us  of  what  had  occurred,  for  which  I 
took  upon  myself  the  chief  blame;  and  I  can  pride  myself  on 
having  carried  out  this  resolution  to  the  letter. 

When  her  sister's  engagement  was  satisfactorily  settled,  I 
at  once  invited  Minna  to  come  to  Riga  with  her.  Both  gladly 
accepted  my  invitation,  and  arrived  from  Dresden  at  my  new 
home  on  19th  October,  wintry  weather  having  already  set  in. 
With  much  regret  I  perceived  that  Minna's  health  had  really 
suffered,  and  therefore  did  all  in  my  power  to  provide  her  with 
all  the  domestic  comforts  and  quiet  she  needed.  This  pre- 
sented difficulties,  for  my  modest  income  as  a  conductor  was 
all  I  had  at  my  disposal,  and  we  were  both  firmly  determined 
not  to  let  Minna  go  on  the  stage  again.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  carrying  out  of  this  resolve,  in  view  of  the  financial  incon- 


182  MY   LIFE 

venience  it  entailed,  produced  strange  complications,  the  nature 
of  which  was  only  revealed  to  me  later,  when  startling  develop- 
ments divulged  the  real  moral  character  of  the  manager  Holtei. 
For  the  present  I  had  to  let  people  think  that  I  was  jealous  of 
my  wife.  I  bore  patiently  with  the  general  belief  that  I  had 
good  reasons  to  be  so,  and  rejoiced  meanwhile  at  the  restora- 
tion of  our  peaceful  married  life,  and  especially  at  the  sight  of 
our  humble  home,  which  we  made  as  comfortable  as  our  means 
would  allow,  and  in  the  keeping  of  which  Minna's  domestic 
talents  came  strongly  to  the  fore.  As  we  were  still  childless, 
and  were  obliged  as  a  rule  to  enlist  the  help  of  a  dog  in  order 
to  give  life  to  the  domestic  hearth,  we  once  lighted  upon  the 
eccentric  idea  of  trying  our  luck  with  a  young  wolf  which  was 
brought  into  the  house  as  a  tiny  cub.  When  we  found,  how- 
ever, that  this  experiment  did  not  increase  the  comfort  of  our 
home  life,  we  gave  him  up  after  he  had  been  with  us  a  few 
weeks.  We  fared  better  with  sister  Amalie;  for  she,  with  her 
good-nature  and  simple  homely  ways,  did  much  to  make  up 
for  the  absence  of  children  for  a  time.  The  two  sisters,  neither 
of  whom  had  had  any  real  education,  often  returned  playfully 
to  the  ways  of  their  childhood.  When  they  sang  children's 
duets,  Minna,  though  she  had  had  no  musical  training,  always 
managed  very  cleverly  to  sing  seconds,  and  afterwards,  as  we 
sat  at  our  evening  meal,  eating  Russian  salad,  salt  salmon  from 
the  Dwina,  or  fresh  Russian  caviare,  we  were  all  three  very 
cheerful  and  happy  far  away  in  our  northern  home. 

Amalie's  beautiful  voice  and  real  vocal  talent  at  first  won 
for  her  a  very  favourable  reception  with  the  public,  a  fact 
which  did  us  all  a  great  deal  of  good.  Being,  however,  very 
short,  and  having  no  very  great  gift  for  acting,  the  scope  of 
her  powers  was  very  limited,  and  as  she  was  soon  surpassed 
by  more  successful  competitors,  it  was  a  real  stroke  of  good 
luck  for  her  that  a  young  officer  in  the  Russian  army,  then 
Captain,  now  General,  Carl  von  Meek,  fell  head  over  ears  in 
love  with  the  simple  girl,  and  married  her  a  year  later.  The 
unfortunate  part  of  this  engagement,  however,  was  that  it 
caused  many  difficulties,  and  brought  the  first  cloud  over  our 
menage  a  trois.  For,  after  a  while,  the  two  sisters  quarrelled 
bitterly,  and  I  had  the  very  unpleasant  experience  of  living 


LIFE    AT    RIGA    (1838)  183 

for  a  whole  year  in  the  same  house  with  two  relatives  who 
neither  saw  nor  spoke  to  each  other. 

We  spent  the  winter  at  the  beginning  of  1838  in  a  very  small 
dingy  dwelling  in  the  old  town;  it  was  not  till  the  spring  that 
we  moved  into  a  pleasanter  house  in  the  more  salubrious 
Petersburg  suburb,  where,  in  spite  of  the  sisterly  breach  be- 
fore referred  to,  we  led  a  fairly  bright  and  cheerful  life,  as 
we  were  often  able  to  entertain  many  of  our  friends  and  acquain- 
tances in  a  simple  though  pleasant  fashion.  In  addition  to 
members  of  the  stage  I  knew  a  few  people  in  the  town,  and  we 
received  and  visited  the  family  of  Dorn,  the  musical  director, 
with  whom  I  became  quite  intimate.  But  it  was  the  second 
musical  director,  Franz  Lobmann,  a  very  worthy  though  not 
a  very  gifted  man,  who  became  most  faithfully  attached  to  me. 
However,  I  did  not  cultivate  many  acquaintances  in  wider 
circles,  and  they  grew  fewer  as  the  ruling  passion  of  my  life 
grew  steadily  stronger;  so  that  when,  later  on,  I  left  Riga, 
after  spending  nearly  two  years  there,  I  departed  almost  as  a 
stranger,  and  with  as  much  indifference  as  I  had  left  Magdeburg 
and  Konigsberg.  What,  however,  specially  embittered  my  de- 
parture was  a  series  of  experiences  of  a  particularly  disagree- 
able nature,  which  firmly  determined  me  to  cut  myself  off 
entirely  from  the  necessity  of  mixing  with  any  people  like 
those  I  had  met  with  in  my  previous  attempts  to  create  a 
position  for  myself  at  the  theatre. 

Yet  it  was  only  gradually  that  I  became  quite  conscious  of 
all  this.  At  first,  under  the  safe  guidance  of  my  renewed 
wedded  happiness,  which  had  for  a  time  been  so  disturbed  in 
its  early  days,  I  felt  distinctly  better  than  I  had  before  in  all 
my  professional  work.  The  fact  that  the  material  position  of 
the  theatrical  undertaking  was  assured  exercised  a  healthy 
influence  on  the  performances.  The  theatre  itself  was  cooped 
up  in  a  very  narrow  space;  there  was  as  little  room  for  scenic 
display  on  its  tiny  stage  as  there  'was  accommodation  for  rich 
musical  effects  in  the  cramped  orchestra.  In  both  directions 
the  strictest  limits  were  imposed,  yet  I  contrived  to  introduce 
considerable  reinforcements  into  an  orchestra  which  was  really 
only  calculated  for  a  string  quartette,  two  first  and  two  second 
violins,  two  violas,  and  one  'cello.  These  successful  exertions 


184  MY   LIFE 

of  mine  were  the  first  cause  of  the  dislike  Holtei  evinced  towards 
me  later  on.  After  this  we  were  able  to  get  good  concerted 
music  for  the  opera.  I  found  the  thorough  study  of  MehuPs 
opera,  Joseph  in  Aegypten,  very  stimulating.  Its  noble  and 
simple  style,  added  to  the  touching  effect  of  the  music,  which 
quite  carries  one  away,  did  much  towards  effecting  a  favour- 
able change  in  my  taste,  till  then  warped  by  my  connection 
with  the  theatre. 

It  was  most  gratifying  to  feel  my  former  serious  taste  again 
aroused  by  really  good  dramatic  performances.  I  specially  re- 
member a  production  of  King  Lear,  which  I  followed  with  the 
greatest  interest,  not  only  at  the  actual  performances,  but  at 
all  the  rehearsals  as  well.  Yet  these  educative  impressions 
— tended  to  make  me  feel  ever  more  and  more  dissatisfied  with 
---Tny  work  at  the  theatre.  On  the  one  hand,  the  members  of 
the  company  became  gradually  more  distasteful  to  me,  and  on 
the  other  I  was  growing  discontented  with  the  management. 
With  regard  to  the  staff  of  the  theatre,  I  very  soon  found  out 
the  hollowness,  vanity,  and  the  impudent  selfishness  of  this 
uncultured  and  undisciplined  class  of  people,  for  I  had  now  lost 
my  former  liking  for  the  Bohemian  life  that  had  such  an  attrac- 
tion for  me  at  Magdeburg.  Before  long  there  were  but  a  few 
members  of  our  company  with  whom  I  had  not  quarrelled, 
thanks  to  one  or  the  other  of  these  drawbacks.  But  my  saddest 
experience  was,  that  in  such  disputes,  into  which  in  fact  I  was 
led  simply  by  my  zeal  for  the  artistic  success  of  the  performances 
as  a  whole,  not  only  did  I  receive  no  support  from  Holtei,  the 
director,  but  I  actually  made  him  my  enemy.  He  even  declared 
publicly  that  our  theatre  had  become  far  too  respectable  for 
his  taste,  and  tried  to  convince  me  that  good  theatrical  per- 
formances could  not  be  given  by  a  strait-laced  company. 

In  his  opinion  the  idea  of  the  dignity  of  theatrical  art  was 
pedantic  nonsense,  and  he  thought  light  serio-comic  vaudeville 
the  only  class  of  performance  worth  considering.  Serious 
opera,  rich  musical  ensemble,  was  his  particular  aversion,  and 
my  demands  for  this  irritated  him  so  that  he  met  them  only 
with  scorn  and  indignant  refusals.  Of  the  strange  connection 
between  this  artistic  bias  and  his  taste  in  the  domain  of  morality 
I  was  also  to  become  aware,  to  my  horror,  in  due  course.  For 


COMPLETION    OF    'RIENZI'  185 

the  present  I  felt  so  repelled  by  the  declaration  of  his  artistic 
antipathies,  as  to  let  my  dislike  for  the  theatre  as  a  profession 
steadily  grow  upon  me.  I  still  took  pleasure  in  some  good 
performances  which  I  was  able  to  get  up,  under  favourable 
circumstances,  at  the  larger  theatre  at  Mitau,  to  where  the 
company  went  for  a  time  in  the  early  part  of  the  summer. 
Yet  it  was  while  I  was  there,  spending  most  of  my  time  reading 
Bulwer  Lytton's  novels,  that  I  made  a  secret  resolve  to  try 
hard  to  free  myself  from  all  connection  with  the  only  branch 


of  theatrical  art  which  had  so  far  been  open  to  me. 

in  the  early  days  of  my  sojourn  in  Riga,  was  destined  to  bridge 


The  composition  of  mj  Rienzi^  the  text  of  which  I  had  finished 


me  over  to  the  glorious  world  for  which  I  had  longed  so  in- 
tensely. I  had  laid  aside  the  completion  of  my  GlucTcliche 
Bdrenfamilie,  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  lighter  character  of 
this  piece  would  have  thrown  me  more  into  contact  with  the  very 
theatrical  people  I  most  despised.  My  greatest  consolation  now 
was  to  prepare  Bienzi  with  such  an  utter  disregard  of  the  means 
which  were  available  there  for  its  production,  that  my  desire  to 
produce  it  would  force  me  out  of  the  narrow  confines  of  this 
puny  theatrical  circle  to  seek  a  fresh  connection  with  one  of  the 
larger  theatres.  It  was  after  our  return  from  Mitau,  in  the 
middle  of  the  summer  of  1838,  that  I  set  to  work  on  this  com- 
position, and  by  so  doing  roused  myself  to  a  state  of  enthusiasm 
which,  considering  my  position,  was  nothing  less  than  desperate 
dare-devilry.  All  to  whom  I  confided  my  plan  perceived  at 
once,  on  the  mere  mention  of  my  subject,  that  I  was  preparing 
to  break  away  from  nly  present  position,  in  which  there  could 
be  no  possibility  of  producing  my  work,  and  I  was  looked  upon 
as  light-headed  and  fit  only  for  an  asylum. 

To  all  my  acquaintances  my  procedure  seemed  stupid  and 
reckless.  Even  the  former  patron  of  my  peculiar  Leipzig  over- 
ture thought  it  impracticable  and  eccentric,  seeing  that  I  had 
again  turned  my  back  on  light  opera.  lie  expressed  this  opinion 
very  freely  in  the  Neue  Zeitschrift  fur  Musik,  in  a  report  of 
a  concert  I  had  given  towards  the  end  of  the  previous  winter, 
and  openly  ridiculed  the  Magdeburg  Columbus  Overture  and 
the  Rule  Britannia  Overture  previously  mentioned.  I  myself 
had  not  taken  any  pleasure  in  the  performance  of  either  of 


186  MY   LIFE 

these  overtures,  as  my  predilection  for  cornets,  strongly  marked 
in  both  these  overtures,  again  played  me  a  sorry  trick,  as  ] 
had  evidently  expected  too  much  of  our  Riga  musicians,  and 
had  to  endure  all  kinds  of  disappointment  on  the  occasion  of 
the  performance.  As  a  complete  contrast  to  my  extravagant 
setting  of  Rienzi,  this  same  director,  H.  Dorn,  had  set  to  work 
to  write  an  opera  in  which  he  had  most  carefully  borne  in  mind 
the  conditions  obtaining  at  the  Riga  theatre.  Der  Schoffe  von 
Paris,  an  historical  operetta  of  the  period  of  the  siege  of  Paris 
by  Joan  of  Arc,  was  practised  and  performed  by  us  to  the 
complete  satisfaction  of  the  composer.  However,  the  success 
of  this  work  gave  me  no  reason  for  abandoning  my  project  to 
complete  my  Rienzi,  and  I  was  secretly  pleased  to  find  that  I 
could  regard  this  success  without  a  trace  of  envy.  Though 
animated  by  no  feeling  of  rivalry,  I  gradually  gave  up  associ- 
ating with  the  Riga  artists,  confining  myself  chiefly  to  the 
performance  of  the  duties  I  had  undertaken,  and  worked  away 
at  the  two  first  acts  of  my  big  opera  without  troubling  myself 
at  all  whether  I  should  ever  get  so  far  as  to  see  it  produced. 

The  serious  and  bitter  experiences  I  had  had  so  early  in  life 
had  done  much  to  guide  me  towards  that  intensely  earnest  side 
of  my  nature  that  had  manifested  itself  in  my  earliest  youth. 
The  effect  of  these  bitter  experiences  was  now  to  be  still  further 
emphasised  by  other  sad  impressions.  Not  long  after  Minna 
had  rejoined  me,  I  received  from  home  the  news  of  the  death 
of  my  sister  Rosalie.  It  was  the  first  time  in  my  life  that  I  had 
experienced  the  passing  away  of  one  near  and  dear  to  me.  The 
death  of  this  sister  struck  me  as  a  most  cruel  and  significant 
blow  of  fate ;  it  was  out  of  love  and  respect  for  her  that  I  had 
turned  away  so  resolutely  from  my  youthful  excesses,  and  it 
was  to  gain  her  sympathy  that  I  had  devoted  special  thought 
and  care  to  my  first  great  works.  When  the  passions  and  cares 
of  life  had  come  upon  me  and  driven  me  away  from  my  home, 
it  was  she  who  had  read  deep  down  into  my  sorely  stricken 
heart,  and  who  had  bidden  me  that  anxious  farewell  on  my 
departure  from  Leipzig.  At  the  time  of  my  disappearance, 
when  the  news  of  my  wilful  marriage  and  of  my  consequent 
unfortunate  position  reached  my  family,  it  was  she  who,  as 
my  mother  informed  me  later,  never  lost  her  faith  in  me,  but 


ROSALIE'S    DEATH  187 

who  always  cherished  the  hope  that  I  would  one  day  reach 
the  full  development  of  my  capabilities  and  make  a  genuine 
success  of  my  life. 

Now,  at  the  news  of  her  death,  and  illuminated  by  the  recol- 
lection of  that  one  impressive  farewell,  as  by  a  flash  of  light- 
ning I  saw  the  immense  value  my  relations  with  this  sister 
had  been  to  me,  and  I  did  not  fully  realise  the  extent  of  her 
influence  until  later  on,  when,  after  my  first  striking  successes, 
my  mother  tearfully  lamented  that  Rosalie  had  not  lived  to 
witness  them.  It  really  did  me  good  to  be  again  in  communi- 
cation with  my  family.  My  mother  and  sisters  had  had  news 
of  my  doings  somehow  or  other,  and  I  was  deeply  touched,  in 
the  letters  which  I  was  now  receiving  from  them,  to  hear  no 
reproaches  anent  my  headstrong  and  apparently  heartless 
behaviour,  but  only  sympathy  and  heartfelt  solicitude.  My 
family  had  also  received  favourable  reports  about  my  wife's 
good  qualities,  a  fact  about  which  I  was  particularly  glad,  as 
I  was  thus  spared  the  difficulties  of  defending  her  questionable 
behaviour  to  me,  which  I  should  have  been  at  pains  to  excuse. 
This  produced  a  salutary  calm  in  my  soul,  which  had  so  recently 
been  a  prey  to  the  worst  anxieties.  All  that  had  driven  me 
with  such  passionate  haste  to  an  improvident  and  premature 
marriage,  all  that  had  consequently  weighed  on  me  so  ruinously, 
now  seemed  set  at  rest,  leaving  peace  in  its  stead.  And  although 
the  ordinary  cares  of  life  still  pressed  on  me  for  many  years, 
often  in  a  most  vexatious  and  troublesome  form,  yet  the 
anxieties  attendant  on  my  ardent  youthful  wishes  were  in  a 
manner  subdued  and  calm.  From  thence  forward  till  the  at- 
tainment of  my  professional  independence,  all  my  life's  struggles 
could  be  directed  entirely  towards  that  more  ideal  aim  which, 
from  the  time  of  the  conception  of  my  Rienzi,  was  to  be  my  only 
guide  through  life. 

It  was  only  later  that  I  first  realised  the  real  character  of 
my  life  in  Riga,  from  the  utterance  of  one  of  its  inhabitants, 
who  was  astonished  to  learn  of  the  success  of  a  man  of  whose 
importance,  during  the  whole  of  his  two  years'  sojourn  in  the 
small  capital  of  Livonia,  nothing  had  been  known.  Thrown 
entirely  on  my  own  resources,  I  was  a  stranger  to  every  one. 
As  I  mentioned  before,  I  kept  aloof  from  all  the  theatre  folk, 


188  MY   LIFE 

in  consequence  of  my  increasing  dislike  of  them,  and  therefore, 
when  at  the  end  of  March,  1839,  at  the  close  of  my  second  win- 
ter there,  I  was  given  my  dismissal  by  the  management,  although 
this  occurrence  surprised  me  for  other  reasons,  yet  I  felt  fully 
reconciled  to  this  compulsory  change  in  my  life.  The  reasons 
which  led  to  this  dismissal  were,  however,  of  such  a  nature 
that  I  could  only  regard  it  as  one  of  the  most  disagreeable 
experiences  of  my  life.  Once,  when  I  was  lying  dangerously 
ill,  I  heard  of  Holtei's  real  feelings  towards  me.  I  had  caught 
a  severe  cold  in  the  depth  of  winter  at  a  theatrical  rehearsal, 
and  it  at  once  assumed  a  serious  character,  owing  to  the  fact 
that  my  nerves  were  in  a  state  of  constant  irritation  from  the 
continual  annoyance  and  vexatious  worry  caused  by  the  con- 
temptible character  of  the  theatrical  management.  It  was  just 
at  the  time  when  a  special  performance  of  the  opera  Norma 
was  to  be  given  by  our  company  in  Mitau.  Holtei  insisted  on 
my  getting  up  from  a  sick-bed  to  make  this  wintry  journey, 
and  thus  to  expose  myself  to  the  danger  of  seriously  increasing 
my  cold  in  the  icy  theatre  at  Mitau.  Typhoid  fever  was  the 
consequence,  and  this  pulled  me  down  to  such  an  extent  that 
Holtei,  who  heard  of  my  condition,  is  said  to  have  remarked  at 
the  theatre  that  I  should  probably  never  conduct  again,  and 
that,  to  all  intents  and  purposes,  '  I  was  on  my  last  legs.'  It 
was  to  a  splendid  homoeopathic  physician,  Dr.  Prutzer,  that  I 
owed  my  recovery  and  my  life.  Not  long  after  that  Holtei 
left  our  theatre  and  Riga  for  ever ;  his  occupation  there,  with 
1  the  far  too  respectable  conditions,'  as  he  expressed  it,  had 
become  intolerable  to  him.  In  addition,  however,  circum- 
stances had  arisen  in  his  domestic  life  (which  had  been  much 
affected  by  the  death  of  his  wife)  which  seemed  to  make  him 
consider  a  complete  break  with  Riga  eminently  desirable.  But 
to  my  astonishment  I  now  first  became  aware  that  I  too  had 
unconsciously  been  a  sufferer  from  the  troubles  he  had  brought 
upon  himself.  When  Holtei's  successor  in  the  management  — 
Joseph  Hoffmann  the  singer  —  informed  me  that  his  prede- 
cessor had  made  it  a  condition  to  his  taking  over  the  post  that  he 
should  enter  into  the  same  engagement  that  Holtei  had  made 
with  the  conductor  Dora  for  the  post  which  I  had  hitherto 
filled,  and  my  reappointinent  had  therefore  been  made  an 


HOLTEI   EXPOSED  189 

impossibility,  my  wife  met  my  astonishment  at  this  news  by 
giving  me  the  reason,  of  which  for  some  considerable  time  past 
she  had  been  well  aware,  namely,  Holtei's  special  dislike  of 
us  both.  When  I  was  afterwards  informed  by  Minna  of  what 
had  happened  —  she  having  purposely  kept  it  from  me  all  this 
time,  so  as  not  to  cause  bad  feeling  between  me  and  my  direc- 
tor —  a  ghastly  light  was  thrown  upon  the  whole  affair.  I 
did  indeed  remember  perfectly  how,  soon  after  Minna's  arrival 
in  Riga,  I  had  been  particularly  pressed  by  Holtei  not  to  pre- 
vent my  wife's  engagement  at  the  theatre.  I  asked  him  to 
talk  things  quietly  over  with  her,  so  that  he  might  see  that 
Minna's  unwillingness  rested  on  a  mutual  understanding,  and 
not  on  any  jealousy  on  my  part.  I  had  intentionally  given  him 
the  time  when  I  was  engaged  at  the  theatre  on  rehearsals  for 
the  necessary  discussions  with  my  wife.  At  the  end  of  these 
meetings  I  had,  on  my  return,  often  found  Minna  in  a  very 
excited  condition,  and  at  length  she  declared  emphatically  that 
under  no  circumstances  would  she  accept  the  engagement  of- 
fered by  Holtei.  I  had  also  noticed  in  Minna's  demeanour 
towards  me  a  strange  anxiety  to  know  why  I  was  not  unwilling 
to  allow  Holtei  to  try  to  persuade  her.  Now  that  the  catas- 
trophe had  occurred,  I  learned  that  Holtei  had  in  fact  used 
these  interviews  for  making  improper  advances  to  my  wife, 
the  nature  of  which  I  only  realised  with  difficulty  on  further 
acquaintance  with  this  man's  peculiarities,  and  after  having 
heard  of  other  instances  of  a  similar  nature.  I  then  discovered 
that  Holtei  considered  it  an  advantage  to  get  himself  talked 
about  in  connection  with  pretty  women,  in  order  thus  to  divert 
the  attention  of  the  public  from  other  conduct  even  more  dis- 
reputable. After  this  Minna  was  exceedingly  indignant  at 
Holtei,  who,  finding  his  own  suit  rejected,  appeared  as  the 
medium  for  another  suitor,  on  whose  behalf  he  urged  that  he 
would  think  none  the  worse  of  her  for  rejecting  him,  a  grey- 
haired  and  penniless  man,  but  at  the  same  time  advocated  the 
suit  of  Brandenburg,  a  very  wealthy  and  handsome  young 
merchant.  His  fierce  indignation  at  this  double  repulse,  his 
humiliation  at  having  revealed  his  real  nature  to  no  purpose, 
seems,  to  judge  from  Minna's  observations,  to  have  been  exceed- 
ingly great.  I  now  understood  too  well  that  his  frequent  and 


19o  MY  LIFE 

profoundly  contemptuous  sallies  against  respectable  actors  and 
actresses  had  not  been  mere  spirited  exaggerations,  but  that  he 
had  probably  often  had  to  complain  of  being  put  thoroughly 
to  shame  on  this  account. 

The  fact  that  the  playing  of  such  criminal  parts  as  the  one 
he  had  had  in  view  with  my  wife  was  unable  to  divert  the 
ever-increasing  attention  of  the  outside  world  from  his  vicious 
and  dissolute  habits,  does  not  seem  to  have  escaped  him;  for 
those  behind  the  scenes  told  me  candidly  that  it  was  owing  to 
the  fear  of  very  unpleasant  revelations  that  he  had  suddenly 
decided  to  give  up  his  position  at  Riga  altogether.  Even  in 
much  later  years  I  heard  about  Holtei's  bitter  dislike  of  me,  a 
dislike  which  showed  itself,  among  other  things,  in  his  denun- 
ciation of  The  Music  of  the  Future,1  and  of  its  tendency  to 
jeopardise  the  simplicity  of  pure  sentiment.  I  have  previously 
mentioned  that  he  displayed  so  much  personal  animosity  against 
me  during  the  latter  part  of  the  time  we  were  together  in  Riga 
that  he  vented  his  hostility  upon  me  in  every  possible  way.  Up 
to  that  time  I  had  felt  inclined  to  ascribe  it  to  the  divergence 
of  our  respective  views  on  artistic  points. 

To  my  dismay  I  now  became  aware  that  personal  considera- 
tions alone  were  at  the  bottom  of  all  this,  and  I  blushed  to 
realise  that  by  my  former  unreserved  confidence  in  a  man 
whom  I  thought  was  absolutely  honest,  I  had  based  my  knowl- 
edge of  human  nature  on  such  very  weak  foundations.  But 
still  greater  was  my  disappointment  when  I  discovered  the 
real  character  of  my  friend  H.  Dora.  During  the  whole  time 
of  our  intercourse  at  Riga,  he,  who  formerly  treated  me  more 
like  a  good-natured  elder  brother,  had  become  my  most  con- 
fidential friend.  We  saw  and  visited  each  other  almost  daily, 
very  frequently  in  our  respective  homes.  I  kept  not  a  single 
secret  from  him,  and  the  performance  of  his  Schoffe  von  Paris 
under  my  direction  was  as  successful  as  if  it  had  been  under 
his  own.  Now,  when  I  heard  that  my  post  had  been  given  to 
him1,  I  felt  obliged  to  ask  him  about  it,  in  order  to  learn  whether 
there  was  any  mistake  on  his  part  as  to  my  intention  regarding 
the  position  I  had  hitherto  held.  But  from  his  letter  in  reply 

1  Zukunftsmusik  is  a  pamphlet  revealing  some  of  Wagner's  artistic  aims  and 
aspirations,  written  1860-61.  —  EDITOE. 


DORN   AS   A    ' FRIEND'  191 

I  could  clearly  see  that  Dorn  had  really  made  use  of  Holtei's 
dislike  for  me  to  extract  from  him,  before  his  departure,  an 
arrangement  which  was  both  binding  on  his  successor  and  also 
in  his  (Dorn's)  own  favour.  As  my  friend  he  ought  to  have 
known  that  he  could  benefit  by  this  agreement  only  in  the  • 
event  of  my  resigning  my  appointment  in  Riga,  because  in 
our  confidential  conversations,  which  continued  to  the  end,  he 
always  carefully  refrained  from  touching  on  the  possibility  of 
my  going  away  or  remaining.  In  fact,  he  declared  that  Holtei 
had  distinctly  told  him  he  would  on  no  account  re-engage  me, 
as  I  could  not  get  on  with  the  singers.  He  added  that  after 
this  one  could  not  take  it  amiss  if  he,  who  had  been  inspired 
with  fresh  enthusiasm  for  the  theatre  by  the  success  of  his 
Schoffe  von  Paris,  had  seized  and  turned  to  his  own  advantage 
the  chance  offered  to  him.  Moreover,  he  had  gathered  from 
my  confidential  communications  that  I  was  very  awkwardly 
situated,  and  that,  owing  to  my  small  salary  having  been  cut 
down  by  Holtei  from  the  very  beginning,  I  was  in  a  very  pre- 
carious position  on  account  of  the  demands  of  my  creditors 
in  Kb'nigsberg  and  Magdeburg.  It  appeared  that  these  people 
had  employed  against  me  a  lawyer,  who  was  a  friend  of  Dorn's, 
and  that,  consequently,  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  I 
would  not  be  able  to  remain  in  Riga.  Therefore,  even  as  my 
friend,  he  had  felt  his  conscience  quite  clear  in  accepting 
Holtei's  proposal. 

In  order  not  to  leave  him  in  the  complacent  enjoyment  of 
this  self-deception,  I  put  it  clearly  before  him  that  he  could 
not  be  ignorant  of  the  fact  that  a  higher  salary  had  been 
promised  to  me  for  the  third  year  of  my  contract;  and  that, 
by  the  establishment  of  orchestral  concerts,  which  had  already 
made  a  favourable  start,  I  now  saw  my  way  to  getting  free 
from  those  long-standing  debts,  having  already  overcome  the 
difficulties  of  the  removal  and  settling  down.  I  also  asked  him 
how  he  would  act  if  I  saw  it  was  to  my  own  interest  to  retain 
my  post,  and  to  call  on  him  to  resign  his  agreement  with 
Holtei,  who,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  after  his  departure  from 
Riga,  had  withdrawn  his  alleged  reason  for  my  dismissal.  To 
this  I  received  no  answer,  nor  have  I  had  one  up  to  the  present 
day;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  in  1865,  I  was  astonished  to  see 


192  MY   LIFE 

Dorn  enter  my  house  in  Munich  unannounced,  and  -when  to 
his  joy  I  recognised  him,  he  stepped  up  to  me  with  a  gesture 
which  clearly  showed  his  intention  of  embracing  me.  Although 
I  managed  to  evade  this,  yet  I  soon  saw  the  difficulty  of  pre- 
venting him  from  addressing  me  with  the  familiar  form  of 
'thou,'  as  the  attempt  to  do  so  would  have  necessitated  ex- 
planations that  would  have  been  a  useless  addition  to  all  my 
worries  just  then;  for  it  was  the  time  when  my  Tristan  was 
being  produced. 

Such  a  man  was  Heinrich  Dorn.  Although,  after  the  fail- 
ure of  three  operas,  he  had  retired  in  disgust  from  the  thea- 
tre to  devote  himself  exclusively  to  the  commercial  side  of 
music,  yet  the  success  of  his  opera,  Der  Schoffe  von  Paris,  in 
Riga  helped  him  back  to  a  permanent  place  among  the  dra- 
matic musicians  of  Germany.  But  to  this  position  he  was 
first  dragged  from  obscurity,  across  the  bridge  of  infidelity  to 
his  friend,  and  by  the  aid  of  virtue  in  the  person  of  Director 
Holtei,  thanks  to  a  magnanimous  oversight  on  the  part  of 
Franz  Listz.  The  preference  of  King  Friedrich  "Wilhelm  IV. 
for  church  scenes  contributed  to  secure  him  eventually  his 
important  position  at  the  greatest  lyric  theatre  in  Germany. 
the  Royal  Opera  of  Berlin.  For  he  was  prompted  far  less  by 
his  devotion  to  the  dramatic  muse  than  by  his  desire  to  secure 
a  good  position  in  some  important  German  city,  when,  as 
already  hinted,  through  Liszt's  recommendation  he  was  ap- 
pointed musical  director  of  Cologne  Cathedral.  During  a 
fete  connected  with  the  building  of  the  cathedral  he  managed, 
as  a  musician,  so  to  work  upon  the  Prussian  monarch's  religious 
feelings,  that  he  was  appointed  to  the  dignified  post  of  musical 
conductor  at  the  Royal  Theatre,  in  which  capacity  he  long 
continued  to  do  honour  to  German  dramatic  music  in  conjunc- 
tion with  Wilhelm  Taubert. 

I  must  give  J.  Hoffmann,  who  from  this  time  forward  was 
the  manager  of  the  Riga  theatre,  the  credit  of  having  felt  the 
treachery  practised  upon  me  very  deeply  indeed.  He  told  me 
that  his  contract  with  Dorn  bound  him  only  for  one  year, 
and  that  the  moment  the  twelve  months  had  elapsed  he  wished 
to  come  to  a  fresh  agreement  with  me.  As  soon  as  this 
was  known,  my  patrons  in  Riga  came  forward  with  offers  of 


KESOLVE    TO    GO    TO    PARIS    (1839)          193 

teaching  engagements  and  arrangements  for  sundry  concerts, 
by  way  of  compensating  me  for  the  year's  salary  which  I  should 
lose  by  being  away  from  my  work  as  a  conductor.  Though  I 
was  much  gratified  by  these  offers,  yet,  as  I  have  already 
pointed  out,  the  longing  to  break  loose  from  the  kind  of 
theatrical  life  which  I  had  experienced  up  to  that  time  so 
possessed  me  that  I  resolutely  seized  this  chance  of  abandon- 
ing my  former  vocation  for  an  entirely  new  one.  Not  without 
some  shrewdness,  I  played  upon  my  wife's  indignation  at  the 
treachery  I  had  suffered,  in  order  to  make  her  fall  in  with  my. 
eccentric  notion  of  going  to  Paris.  Already  in  my  conception 
of  Rienzi  I  had  dreamed  of  the  most  magnificent  theatrical 
conditions,  but  now,  without  halting  at  any  intermediate 
stations,  my  one  desire  was  to  reach  the  very  heart  of  all 
European  grand  opera.  While  still  in  Magdeburg  I  had  made 
H.  Konig's  romance,  Die  Hohe  Braut,  the  subject  of  a  grand 
opera  in  five  acts,  and  in  the  most  luxurious  French  style. 
After  the  scenic  draft  of  this  opera,  which  had  been  translated 
into  French,  was  completely  worked  out,  I  sent  it  from  Konigs- 
berg  to  Scribe  in  Paris.  With  this  manuscript  I  sent  a  letter 
to  the  famous  operatic  poet,  in  which  I  suggested  that  he  might 
make  use  of  my  plot,  on  condition  that  he  would  secure  me  the 
composition  of  the  music  for  the  Paris  Opera  House.  To 
convince  him  of  my  ability  to  compose  Parisian  operatic  music, 
I  also  sent  him  the  score  of  my  Liebesverbot.  At  the  same 
time  I  wrote  to  Meyerbeer,  informing  him  of  my  plans,  and 
begging  him  to  support  me.  I  was  not  at  all  disheartened  at 
receiving  no  reply,  for  I  was  content  to  know  that  now  at 
last  1 1  was  in  communication  with  Paris.'  WThen,  therefore,  I 
started  out  upon  my  daring  journey  from  Riga,  I  seemed  to 
have  a  comparatively  serious  object  in  view,  and  my  Paris 
projects  no  longer  struck  me  as  being  altogether  in  the  air. 
In  addition  to  this  I  now  heard  that  my  youngest  sister, 
Cecilia,  had  become  betrothed  to  a  certain  Eduard  Avenarius, 
an  employee  of  the  Brockhaus  book-selling  firm,  and  that  he 
had  undertaken  the  management  of  their  Paris  branch.  To 
him  I  applied  for  news  of  Scribe,  and  for  an  answer  to  the 
application  I  had  made  to  that  gentleman  some  years  previ- 
ously. Avenarius  called  on  Scribe,  and  from  him  received  an 


194  MY   LIFE 

acknowledgment  of  the  receipt  of  my  earlier  communication. 
Scribe  also  showed  that  he  had  some  recollection  of  the  subject 
itself;  for  he  said  that,  so  far  as  he  could  remember,  there 
was  a  joueuse  de  Jiarpe  in  the  piece,  who  was  ill-treated  by 
her  brother.  The  fact  that  this  merely  incidental  item  had 
alone  remained  in  his  memory  led  me  to  conclude  that  he  had 
not  extended  his  acquaintance  with  the  piece  beyond  the  first 
act,  in  which  the  item  in  question  occurs.  When,  moreover, 
I  heard  that  he  had  nothing  to  say  in  regard  to  my  score, 
except  that  he  had  had  portions  of  it  played  over  to  him  by  a 
pupil  of  the  Conservatoire,  I  really  could  not  flatter  myself 
that  he  had  entered  into  definite  and  conscious  relations  with 
me.  And  yet  I  had  palpable  evidence  in  a  letter  of  his  to 
Avenarius,  which  the  latter  forwarded  to  me,  that  Scribe  had 
actually  occupied  himself  with  my  work,  and  that  I  was  indeed 
in  communication  with  him,  and  this  letter  of  Scribe's  made 
such  an  impression  upon  my  wife,  who  was  by  no  means 
inclined  to  be  sanguine,  that  she  gradually  overcame  her 
apprehensions  in  regard  to  the  Paris  adventure.  At  last  it 
was  fixed  and  settled  that  on  the  expiry  of  my  second  year's 
contract  in  Riga  (that  is  to  say,  in  the  coming  summer,  1839), 
we  should  journey  direct  from  Riga  to  Paris,  in  order  that  I 
might  try  my  luck  there  as  a  composer  of  opera. 

The  production  of  my  Rienzi  now  began  to  assume  greater 
importance.  The  composition  of  its  second  act  was  finished 
before  we  started,  and  into  this  I  wove  a  heroic  ballet  of 
extravagant  dimensions.  It  was  now  imperative  that  I  should 
speedily  acquire  a  knowledge  of  French,  a  language  which, 
during  my  classical  studies  at  the  Grammar  School,  I  had 
contemptuously  laid  aside.  As  there  were  only  four  weeks 
in  which  to  recover  the  time  I  had  lost,  I  engaged  an  excellent 
French  master.  But  as  I  soon  realised  that  I  could  achieve 
but  little  in  so  short  a  time,  I  utilised  the  hours  of  the  lessons 
in  order  to  obtain  from  him,  under  the  pretence  of  receiving 
instruction,  an  idiomatic  translation  of  my  Rienzi  libretto. 
This  I  wrote  with  red  ink  on  such  parts  of  the  score  as  were 
finished,  so  that  on  reaching  Paris  I  might  immediately  submit 
my  half-finished  opera  to  French  judges  of  art. 

Everything  now  seemed  to  be  carefully  prepared  for  my 


PLANS   FOR   THE    JOURNEY  195 

departure,  and  all  that  remained  to  be  done  was  to  raise  the 
necessary  funds  for  my  undertaking.  But  in  this  respect  the 
outlook  was  bad.  The  sale  of  our  modest  household  furniture, 
the  proceeds  of  a  benefit  concert,  and  my  meagre  savings  only 
sufficed  to  satisfy  the  importunate  demands  of  my  creditors  in 
Magdeburg  and  Konigsberg.  I  knew  that  if  I  were  to  devote 
all  my  cash  to  this  purpose,  there  would  not  be  a  farthing 
left.  Some  way  out  of  the  fix  must  be  found,  and  this  our 
old  Konigsberg  friend,  Abraham  Moller,  suggested  in  his  usual 
flippant  and  obscure  manner.  Just  at  this  critical  moment 
he  paid  us  a  second  visit  to  Riga.  I  acquainted  him  with  the 
difficulties  of  our  position,  and  all  the  obstacles  which  stood  in 
the  way  of  my  resolve  to  go  to  Paris.  In  his  habitual  laconical 
way  he  counselled  me  to  reserve  all  my  savings  for  our  journey, 
and  to  settle  with  my  creditors  when  my  Parisian  successes 
had  provided  the  necessary  means.  To  help  us  in  carrying 
out  this  plan,  he  offered  to  convey  us  in  his  carriage  across  the 
Russian  frontier  at  top  speed  to  an  East  Prussian  port.  We 
should  have  to  cross  the  Russian  frontier  without  passports, 
as  these  had  been  already  impounded  by  our  foreign  creditors. 
He  assured  us  that  we  should  find  it  quite  simple  to  carry  out 
this  very  hazardous  expedition,  and  declared  that  he  had  a 
friend  on  a  Prussian  estate  close  to  the  frontier  who  would 
render  us  very  effective  assistance.  My  eagerness  to  escape 
at  any  price  from  my  previous  circumstances,  and  to  enter 
with  all  possible  speed  upon  the  wider  field,  in  which  I  hoped 
very  soon  to  realise  my  ambition,  blinded  me  to  all  the  un- 
pleasantnesses which  the  execution  of  his  proposal  must  entail. 
Director  Hoffmann,  who  considered  himself  bound  to  serve  me 
to  the  utmost  of  his  ability,  facilitated  my  departure  by  allow- 
ing me  to  leave  some  months  before  the  expiration  of  my  en- 
gagement. After  continuing  to  conduct  the  operatic  portion 
of  the  Mitau  theatrical  season  through  the  month  of  June,  we 
secretly  started  in  a  special  coach  hired  by  Moller  and  under 
his  protection.  The  goal  of  our  journey  was  Paris,  but  many 
unheard-of  hardships  were  in  store  for  us  before  we  were  to 
reach  that  city. 

The  sense  of  contentment  involuntarily  aroused  by  our  pas- 
sage through  the  fruitful   Courland   in  the  luxuriant  month 


196  MY   LIFE 

of  July,  and  by  the  sweet  illusion  that  now  at  last  I  had  cut 
myself  loose  from  a  hateful  existence,  to  enter  upon  a  new 
and  boundless  path  of  fortune,  was  disturbed  from  its  very 
outset  by  the  miserable  inconveniences  occasioned  by  the 
presence  of  a  huge  Newfoundland  dog  called  Robber.  This 
beautiful  creature,  originally  the  property  of  a  Riga  merchant, 
had,  contrary  to  the  nature  of  his  race,  become  devotedly  at- 
tached to  me.  After  I  had  left  Riga,  and  during  my  long  stay 
in  Mitau,  Robber  incessantly  besieged  my  empty  house,  and 
so  touched  the  hearts  of  my  landlord  and  the  neighbours  by 
his  fidelity,  that  they  sent  the  dog  after  me  by  the  conductor 
of  the  coach  to  Mitau,  where  I  greeted  him  with  genuine 
effusion,  and  swore  that,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  I  would 
never  part  with  him  again.  Whatever  might  happen,  the  dog 
must  go  with  us  to  Paris.  And  yet,  even  to  get  him  into  the 
carriage  proved  almost  impossible.  All  my  endeavours  to  find 
him  a  place  in  or  about  the  vehicle  were  in  vain,  and,  to  my 
great  grief,  I  had  to  watch  the  huge  northern  beast,  with 
his  shaggy  coat,  gallop  all  day  long  in  the  blazing  sun  beside 
the  carriage.  At  last,  moved  to  pity  by  his  exhaustion,  and 
unable  to  bear  the  sight  any  longer,  I  hit  upon  a  most  ingenious 
plan  for  bringing  the  great  animal  with  us  into  the  carriage, 
where,  in  spite  of  its  being  full  to  overflowing,  he  was  just  able 
to  find  room. 

On  the  evening  of  the  second  day  we  reached  the  Russo- 
Prussian  frontier.  Mb'ller's  evident  anxiety  as  to  whether  we 
should  be  able  to  cross  it  safely  showed  us  plainly  that  the 
matter  was  one  of  some  danger.  His  good  friend  from  the  other 
side  duly  turned  up  with  a  small  carriage,  as  arranged,  and  in 
this  conveyance  drove  Minna,  myself,  and  Robber  through  by- 
paths to  a  certain  point,  whence  he  led  us  on  foot  to  a  house 
of  exceedingly  suspicious  exterior,  where,  after  handing  us 
over  to  a  guide,  he  left  us.  There  we  had  to  wait  until  sun- 
down, and  had  ample  leisure  in  which  to  realise  that  we  were 
in  a  smugglers'  drinking  den,  which  gradually  became  filled  to 
suffocation  with  Polish  Jews  of  most  forbidding  aspect. 

At  last  we  were  summoned  to  follow  our  guide.  A  few 
hundred  feet  away,  on  the  slope  of  a  hill,  lay  the  ditch  which 
runs  the  whole  length  of  the  Russian  frontier,  watched  continu- 


197 

ally  and  at  very  narrow  intervals  by  Cossacks.  Our  chance 
was  to  utilise  the  few  moments  after  the  relief  of  the  watch, 
during  which  the  sentinels  were  elsewhere  engaged.  We  had, 
therefore,  to  run  at  full  speed  down  the  hill,  scramble  through 
the  ditch,  and  then  hurry  along  until  we  were  beyond  the 
range  of  the  soldiers'  guns;  for  the  Cossacks  were  bound  in 
case  of  discovery  to  fire  upon  us  even  on  the  other  side  of  the 
ditch.  In  spite  of  my  almost  passionate  anxiety  for  Minna, 
I  had  observed  with  singular  pleasure  the  intelligent  behaviour 
of  Robber,  who,  as  though  conscious  of  the  danger,  silently 
kept  close  to  our  side,  and  entirely  dispelled  my  fear  that  he 
would  give  trouble  during  our  dangerous  passage.  At  last  our 
trusted  helpmeet  reappeared,  and  was  so  delighted  that  he 
hugged  us  all  in  his  arms.  Then,  placing  us  once  more  in  his 
carriage,  he  drove  us  to  the  inn  of  the  Prussian  frontier  village, 
where  my  friend  Moller,  positively  sick  with  anxiety,  leaped 
sobbing  and  rejoicing  out  of  bed  to  greet  us. 

It  was  only  now  that  I  began  to  realise  the  danger  to  which 
I  had  exposed,  not  only  myself,  but  also  my  poor  Minna,  and 
the  folly  of  which  I  had  been  guilty  through  my  ignorance  of 
the  terrible  difficulties  of  secretly  crossing  the  frontier  —  diffi- 
culties concerning  which  Moller  had  foolishly  allowed  me  to 
remain  in  ignorance. 

I  was  simply  at  a  loss  to  convey  to  my  poor  exhausted  wife 
how  extremely  I  regretted  the  whole  affair. 

And  yet  the  difficulties  we  had  just  overcome  were  but  the 
prelude  to  the  calamities  incidental  to  this  adventurous  journey 
which  had  such  a  decisive  influence  on  my  life.  The  following 
day,  when,  with  courage  renewed,  we  drove  through  the  rich 
plain  of  Tilsit  to  Arnau,  near  Konigsberg,  we  decided,  as  the 
next  stage  of  our  journey,  to  proceed  from  the  Prussian  harbour 
of  Pillau  by  sailing  vessel  to  London.  Our  principal  reason  for 
this  was  the  consideration  of  the  dog  we  had  with  us.  It  was 
the  easiest  way  to  take  him.  To  convey  him  by  coach  from 
Konigsberg  to  Paris  was  out  of  the  question,  and  railways  were 
unknown.  But  another  consideration  was  our  budget;  the 
whole  result  of  my  desperate  efforts  amounted  to  not  quite 
one  hundred  ducats,  which  were  to  cover  not  only  the  journey 
to  Paris,  but  our  expenses  there  until  I  should  have  earned 


198  MY   LIFE 

something.  Therefore,  after  a  few  days'  rest  in  the  inn  at 
Arnau,  we  drove  to  the  little  seaport  town  of  Pillau,  again 
accompanied  by  Moller,  in  one  of  the  ordinary  local  conveyances, 
which  was  not  much  better  than  a  wagon.  In  order  to  avoid 
Konigsberg,  we  passed  through  the  smaller  villages  and  over 
bad  roads.  Even  this  short  distance  was  not  to  be  covered 
without  accident.  The  clumsy  conveyance  upset  in  a  farmyard, 
and  Minna  was  so  severely  indisposed  by  the  accident,  owing 
to  an  internal  shock,  that  I  had  to  drag  her  —  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  as  she  was  quite  helpless  —  to  a  peasant's  house.  The 
people  were  surly  and  dirty,  and  the  night  we  spent  there  was 
a  painful  one  for  the  poor  sufferer.  A  delay  of  several  days 
occurred  before  the  departure  of  the  Pillau  vessel,  but  this  was 
welcome  as  a  respite  to  allow  of  Minna's  recovery.  Finally,  as 
the  captain  was  to  take  us  without  a  passport,  our  going  on 
board  was  accompanied  by  exceptional  difficulties.  We  had 
to  contrive  to  slip  past  the  harbour  watch  to  our  vessel  in  a 
small  boat  before  daybreak.  Once  on  board,  we  still  had  the 
troublesome  task  of  hauling  Robber  up  the  steep  side  of  the 
vessel  without  attracting  attention,  and  after  that  to  conceal 
ourselves  at  once  below  deck,  in  order  to  escape  the  notice  of 
officials  visiting  the  ship  before  its  departure.  The  anchor 
was  weighed,  and  at  last,  as  the  land  faded  gradually  out  of 
sight,  we  thought  we  could  breathe  freely  and  feel  at  ease. 

We  were  on  board  a  merchant  vessel  of  the  smallest  type. 
She  was  called  the  Thetis;  a  bust  of  the  nymph  was  erected  in 
the  bows,  and  she  carried  a  crew  of  seven  men,  including  the 
captain.  With  good  weather,  such  as  was  to  be  expected  in 
summer,  the  journey  to  London  was  estimated  to  take  eight 
days.  However,  before  we  had  left  the  Baltic,  we  were  delayed 
by  a  prolonged  calm.  I  made  use  of  the  time  to  improve  my 
knowledge  of  French  by  the  study  of  a  novel,  La  Derniere 
Aldini,  by  George  Sand.  We  also  derived  some  entertainment 
from  associating  with  the  crew.  There  was  an  elderly  and 
peculiarly  taciturn  sailor  named  Koske,  whom  we  observed 
carefully  because  Robber,  who  was  usually  so  friendly,  had 
taken  an  irreconcilable  dislike  to  him.  Oddly  enough,  this 
fact  was  to  add  in  some  degree  to  our  troubles  in  the  hour  of 
danger.  After  seven  days'  sailing  we  were  no  further  than 


ON    BOARD    THE    THETIS  199 

Copenhagen,  where,  without  leaving  the  vessel,  we  seized  an 
opportunity  of  making  our  very  spare  diet  on  board  more 
bearable  by  various  purchases  of  food  and  drink.  In  good 
spirits  we  sailed  past  the  beautiful  castle  of  Elsinore,  the  sight 
of  which  brought  me  into  immediate  touch  with  my  youthful 
impressions  of  Hamlet.  We  were  sailing  all  unsuspecting 
through  the  Cattegat  to  the  Skagerack,  when  the  wind,  which 
had  at  first  been  merely  unfavourable,  and  had  forced  us  to 
a  process  of  weary  tacking,  changed  on  the  second  day  to  a 
violent  storm.  For  twenty-four  hours  we  had  to  struggle 
against  it  under  disadvantages  which  were  quite  new  to  us. 
In  the  captain's  painfully  narrow  cabin,  in  which  one  of  us 
was  without  a  proper  berth,  we  were  a  prey  to  sea-sickness  and 
endless  alarms.  Unfortunately,  the  brandy  cask,  at  which  the 
crew  fortified  themselves  during  their  strenuous  work,  was  let 
into  a  hollow  under  the  seat  on  which  I  lay  at  full  length. 
Now  it  happened  to  be  Koske  who  came  most  frequently  in 
search  of  the  refreshment  which  was  such  a  nuisance  to  me, 
and  this  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  on  each  occasion  he  had  to 
encounter  Robber  in  mortal  combat.  The  dog  flew  at  him 
with  renewed  rage  each  time  he  came  climbing  down  the  narrow 
steps.  I  was  thus  compelled  to  make  efforts  which,  in  my 
state  of  complete  exhaustion  from  sea-sickness,  rendered  my 
condition  every  time  more  critical.  At  last,  on  27th  July, 
the  captain  was  compelled  by  the  violence  of  the  west  wind 
to  seek  a  harbour  on  the  Norwegian  coast.  And  how  relieved 
I  was  to  behold  that  far-reaching  rocky  coast,  towards  which 
we  were  being  driven  at  such  speed !  A  Norwegian  pilot  came 
to  meet  us  in  a  small  boat,  and,  with  experienced  hand,  assumed 
control  of  the  Thetis,  whereupon  in  a  very  short  time  I  was  to 
have  one  of  the  most  marvellous  and  most  beautiful  impres- 
sions of  my  life.  What  I  had  taken  to  be  a  continuous  line 
of  cliffs  turned  out  on  our  approach  to  be  a  series  of  separate 
rocks  projecting  from  the  sea.  Having  sailed  past  them,  we 
perceived  that  we  were  surrounded,  not  only  in  front  and  at 
the  sides,  but  also  at  our  back,  by  these  reefs,  which  closed  in 
behind  us  so  near  together  that  they  seemed  to  form  a  single 
chain  of  rocks.  At  the  same  time  the  hurricane  was  so  broken 
by  the  rocks  in  our  rear  that  the  further  we  sailed  through  this 


200  MY   LIFE 

ever-changing  labyrinth  of  projecting  rocks,  the  calmer  the 
sea  became,  until  at  last  the  vessel's  progress  was  perfectly 
smooth  and  quiet  as  we  entered  one  of  those  long  sea-roads 
running  through  a  giant  ravine  —  for  such  the  Norwegian 
fjords  appeared  to  me. 

A  feeling  of  indescribable  content  came  over  me  when  the 
enormous  granite  walls  echoed  the  hail  of  the  crew  as  they  cast 
anchor  and  furled  the  sails.  The  sharp  rhythm  of  this  call 
clung  to  me  like  an  omen  of  good  cheer,  and  shaped  itself 
presently  into  the  theme  of  the  seamen's  song  in  my  Fliegen- 
der  Hollander.  The  idea  of  this  opera  was,  even  at  that 
time,  ever  present  in  my  mind,  and  it  now  took  on  a  definite 
poetic  and  musical  colour  under  the  influence  of  my  recent  im- 
pressions. Well,  our  next  move  was  to  go  on  shore.  I  learned 
that  the  little  fishing  village  at  which  we  landed  was  called  Sand- 
wike,  and  was  situated  a  few  miles  away  from  the  much  larger 
town  of  Arendal.  We  were  allowed  to  put  up  at  the  hospitable 
house  of  a  certain  ship's  captain,  who  was  then  away  at  sea,  and 
here  we  were  able  to  take  the  rest  we  so  much  needed,  as  the 
unabated  violence  of  the  wind  in  the  open  detained  us  there 
two  days.  On  31st  July  the  captain  insisted  on  leaving,  de- 
spite the  pilot's  warning.  We  had  been  on  board  the  Thetis 
a  few  hours,  and  were  in  the  act  of  eating  a  lobster  for  the 
first  time  in  our  lives,  when  the  captain  and  the  sailors  began 
to  swear  violently  at  the  pilot,  whom  I  could  see  at  the  helm, 
rigid  with  fear,  striving  to  avoid  a  reef  —  barely  visible  above 
the  water  —  towards  which  our  ship  was  being  driven.  Great 
was  our  terror  at  this  violent  tumult,  for  we  naturally  thought 
ourselves  in  the  most  extreme  danger.  The  vessel  did  actually 
receive  a  severe  shock,  which,  to  my  vivid  imagination,  seemed 
like  the  splitting  up  of  the  whole  ship.  Fortunately,  however, 
it  transpired  that  only  the  side  of  our  vessel  had  fouled  the 
reef,  and  there  was  no  immediate  danger.  Nevertheless,  the 
captain  deemed  it  necessary  to  steer  for  a  harbour  to  have  the 
vessel  examined,  and  we  returned  to  the  coast  and  anchored 
at  another  point.  The  captain  then  offered  to  take  us  in  a  small 
boat  with  two  sailors  to  Tromsond,  a  town  of  some  importance 
situated  at  a  few  hours'  distance,  where  he  had  to  invite  the 
harbour  officials  to  examine  his  ship.  This  again  proved  a  most 


THE    THETIS   IN   A   STORM  201 

attractive  and  impressive  excursion.  The  view  of  one  fjord 
in  particular,  which  extended  far  inland,  worked  on  my  imagi- 
nation like  some  unknown,  awe-inspiring  desert.  This  im- 
pression was  intensified,  during  a  long  walk  from  Tromsond  up 
to  the  plateau,  by  the  terribly  depressing  effect  of  the  dun  moors, 
bare  of  tree  or  shrub,  boasting  only  a  covering  of  scanty  moss, 
which  stretch  away  to  the  horizon,  and  merge  imperceptibly 
into  the  gloomy  sky.  It  was  long  after  dark  when  we  returned 
from  this  trip  in  our  little  boat,  and  my  wife  was  very  anxious. 
The  next  morning  (1st  August),  reassured  as  to  the  condition 
of  the  vessel,  and  the  wind  favouring  us,  we  were  able  to  go  to 
sea  without  further  hindrance. 

After  four  days'  calm  sailing  a  strong  north  wind  arose, 
which  drove  us  at  uncommon  speed  in  the  right  direction.  We 
began  to  think  ourselves  nearly  at  the  end  of  our  journey 
when,  on  6th  August,  the  wind  changed,  and  the  storm  began 
to  rage  with  unheard-of  violence.  On  the  7th,  a  Wednesday, 
at  half-past  two  in  the  afternoon,  we  thought  ourselves  in 
imminent  danger  of  death.  It  was  not  the  terrible  force  with 
which  the  vessel  was  hurled  up  and  down,  entirely  at  the  mercy 
of  this  sea  monster,  which  appeared  now  as  a  fathomless  abyss, 
now  as  a  steep  mountain  peak,  that  filled  me  with  mortal 
dread;  my  premonition  of  some  terrible  crisis  was  aroused 
by  the  despondency  of  the  crew,  whose  malignant  glances 
seemed  superstitiously  to  point  to  us  as  the  cause  of  the 
threatening  disaster.  Ignorant  of  the  trifling  occasion  for  the 
secrecy  of  our  journey,  the  thought  may  have  occurred  to  them 
that  our  need  of  escape  had  arisen  from  suspicious  or  even 
criminal  circumstances.  The  captain  himself  seemed,  in  his 
extreme  distress,  to  regret  having  taken  us  on  board;  for  we 
had  evidently  brought  him  ill-luck  on  this  familiar  passage  — 
usually  a  rapid  and  uncomplicated  one,  especially  in  summer. 
At  this  particular  moment  there  raged,  beside  the  tempest  on 
the  water,  a  furious  thunderstorm  overhead,  and  Minna  ex- 
pressed the  fervent  wish  to  be  struck  by  lightning  with  me 
rather  than  to  sink,  living,  into  the  fearful  flood.  She  even 
begged  me  to  bind  her  to  me,  so  that  we  might  not  be  parted 
as  we  sank.  Yet  another  night  was  spent  amid  these  incessant 
terrors,  which  only  our  extreme  exhaustion  helped  to  mitigate. 


202 

The  following  day  the  storm  had  subsided ;  the  wind  remained 
unfavourable,  but  was  mild.  The  captain  now  tried  to  find 
our  bearings  by  means  of  his  astronomical  instruments.  He 
complained  of  the  sky,  which  had  been  overcast  so  many  days, 
swore  that  he  would  give  much  for  a  single  glimpse  of  the  sun 
or  the  stars,  and  did  not  conceal  the  uneasiness  he  felt  at  not 
being  able  to  indicate  our  whereabouts  with  certainty.  He 
consoled  himself,  however,  by  following  a  ship  which  was 
sailing  some  knots  ahead  in  the  same  direction,  and  whose 
movements  he  observed  closely  through  the  telescope.  Sud- 
denly he  sprang  up  in  great  alarm,  and  gave  a  vehement  order 
to  change  our  course.  He  had  seen  the  ship  in  front  go  aground 
on  a  sand-bank,  from  which,  he  asserted,  she  could  not  extricate 
herself;  for  he  now  realised  that  we  were  near  the  most 
dangerous  part  of  the  belt  of  sand-banks  bordering  the  Dutch 
coast  for  a  considerable  distance.  By  dint  of  very  skilful  sail- 
ing, we  were  enabled  to  keep  the  opposite  course  towards  the 
English  coast,  which  we  in  fact  sighted  on  the  evening  of  9th 
August,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Southwold.  I  felt  new  life 
come  into  me  when  I  saw  in  the  far  distance  the  English 
pilots  racing  for  our  ship.  As  competition  is  free  among 
pilots  on  the  English  coast,  they  come  out  as  far  as  possible 
to  meet  incoming  vessels,  even  when  the  risks  are  very  great 

The  winner  in  our  case  was  a  powerful  grey-haired  man,  who, 
after  much  vain  battling  with  the  seething  waves,  which  tossed 
his  light  boat  away  from  our  ship  at  each  attempt,  at  last 
succeeded  in  boarding  the  Thetis.  (Our  poor,  hardly-used  boat 
still  bore  the  name,  although  the  wooden  figure-head  of  our 
patron  nymph  had  been  hurled  into  the  sea  during  our  first 
storm  in  the  Cattegat  —  an  ill-omened  incident  in  the  eyes  of 
the  crew.)  We  were  filled  with  pious  gratitude  when  this  quiet 
English  sailor,  whose  hands  were  torn  and  bleeding  from  his 
repeated  efforts  to  catch  the  rope  thrown  to  him  on  his  approach, 
took  over  the  rudder.  His  whole  personality  impressed  us 
most  agreeably,  and  he  seemed  to  us  the  absolute  guarantee 
of  a  speedy  deliverance  from  our  terrible  afflictions.  We  re- 
joiced too  soon,  however,  for  we  still  had  before  us  the  perilous 
passage  through  the  sand-banks  off  the  English  coast,  where, 
as  I  was  assured,  nearly  four  hundred  ships  are  wrecked  on  an 


ARRIVAL    IN   LONDON  203 

average  every  year.  We  were  fully  twenty-four  hours  (from 
the  evening  of  the  10th  to  the  llth  of  August)  amid  these  sand- 
banks, fighting  a  westerly  gale,  which  hindered  our  progress 
so  seriously  that  we  only  reached  the  mouth  of  the  Thames 
on  the  evening  of  the  12th  of  August.  My  wife  had,  up  to  that 
point,  been  so  nervously  affected  by  the  innumerable  danger 
signals,  consisting  chiefly  of  small  guardships  painted  bright 
red  and  provided  with  bells  on  account  of  the  fog,  that  she 
could  not  close  her  eyes,  day  or  night,  for  the  excitement  of 
watching  for  them  and  pointing  them  out  to  the  sailors.  I, 
on  the  contrary,  found  these  heralds  of  human  proximity  and 
deliverance  so  consoling  that,  despite  Minna's  reproaches,  I  in- 
dulged in  a  long  refreshing  sleep.  Kow  that  we  were  anchored 
in  the  mouth  of  the  Thames,  waiting  for  daybreak,  I  found  my- 
self in  the  best  of  spirits;  I  dressed,  washed,  and  even  shaved 
myself  up  on  deck  near  the  mast,  while  Minna  and  the  whole 
exhausted  crew  were  wrapped  in  deep  slumber.  And  with 
deepening  interest  I  watched  the  growing  signs  of  life  in  this 
famous  estuary.  Our  desire  for  a  complete  release  from  our 
detested  confinement  led  us,  after  we  had  sailed  a  little  way 
up,  to  hasten  our  arrival  in  London  by  going  on  board  a  passing 
steamer  at  Gravesend.  As  we  neared  the  capital,  our  astonish- 
ment steadily  increased  at  the  number  of  ships  of  all  sorts  that 
filled  the  river,  the  houses,  the  streets,  the  famous  docks,  and 
other  maritime  constructions  which  lined  the  banks.  When 
at  last  we  reached  London  Bridge,  this  incredibly  crowded 
centre  of  the  greatest  city  in  the  world,  and  set  foot  on  land 
after  our  terrible  three  weeks'  voyage,  a  pleasurable  sensation 
of  giddiness  overcame  us  as  our  legs  carried  us  staggering 
through  the  deafening  uproar.  Robber  seemed  to  be  similarly 
affected,  .for  he  whisked  round  the  corners  like  a  mad  thing, 
and  threatened  to  get  lost  every  other  minute.  But  we  soon 
sought  safety  in  a  cab,  which  took  us,  on  our  captain's  recom- 
mendation, to  the  Horseshoe  Tavern,  near  the  Tower,  and  here 
we  had  to  make  our  plans  for  the  conquest  of  this  giant 
metropolis. 

The  neighbourhood  in  which  we  found  ourselves  was  such 
that  we  decided  to  leave  it  with  all  possible  haste.  A  very 
friendly  little  hunchbacked  Jew  from  Hamburg  suggested 


204  MY  LIFE 

better  quarters  in  the  West  End,  and  I  remember  vividly  our 
drive  there,  in  one  of  the  tiny  narrow  cabs  then  in  use,  the 
journey  lasting  fully  an  hour.  They  were  built  to  carry  two 
people,  who  had  to  sit  facing  each  other,  and  we  therefore  had 
to  lay  our  big  dog  crosswise  from  window  to  window.  The 
sights  we  saw  from  our  whimsical  nook  surpassed  anything 
we  had  imagined,  and  we  arrived  at  our  boarding-house  in 
Old  Compton  Street  agreeably  stimulated  by  the  life  and  the 
overwhelming  size  of  the  great  city.  Although  at  the  age  of 
twelve  I  had  made  what  I  supposed  to  be  a  translation  of  a 
monologue  from  Shakespeare's  Romeo  and  Juliet,  I  found  my 
knowledge  of  English  quite  inadequate  when  it  came  to  con- 
versing with  the  landlady  of  the  King's  Arms.  But  the  good 
dame's  social  condition  as  a  sea-captain's  widow  led  her  to  think 
she  could  talk  French  to  me,  and  her  attempts  made  me  wonder 
which  of  us  knew  least  of  that  language.  And  then  a  most 
disturbing  incident  occurred  —  we  missed  Robber,  who  must 
have  run  away  at  the  door  instead  of  following  us  into  the  house. 
Our  distress  at  having  lost  our  good  dog  after  having  brought 
him  all  the  way  there  with  such  difficulty  occupied  us  exclu- 
sively during  the  first  two  hours  we  spent  in  this  new  home 
on  land.  We  kept  constant  watch  at  the  window  until,  of  a 
sudden,  we  joyfully  recognised  Robber  strolling  unconcernedly 
towards  the  house  from  a  side  street.  Afterwards  we  learned 
that  our  truant  had  wandered  as  far  as  Oxford  Street  in  search 
of  adventures,  and  I  have  always  considered  his  amazing 
return  to  a  house  which  he  had  not  even  entered  as  a  strong 
proof  of  the  absolute  certainty  of  the  animal's  instincts  in  the 
matter  of  memory. 

We  now  had  time  to  realise  the  tiresome  after-effects  of  the 
voyage.  The  continuous  swaying  of  the  floor  and  our  clumsy 
efforts  to  keep  from  falling  we  found  fairly  entertaining;  but 
when  we  came  to  take  our  well-earned  rest  in  the  huge  English 
double  bed,  and  found  that  that  too  rocked  up  and  down,  it 
became  quite  unbearable.  Every  time  we  closed  our  eyes  we 
sank  into  frightful  abysses,  and,  springing  up  again,  cried  out 
for  help.  It  seemed  as  if  that  terrible  voyage  would  go  on 
to  the  end  of  our  lives.  Added  to  this  we  felt  miserably  sick? 
for,  after  the  atrocious  food  on  board,  we  had  been  only  too 


ADVENTURES   IN   LONDON  205 

ready  to  partake,  with  less  discretion  than  relish,  of  tastier 
fare. 

We  were  so  exhausted  by  all  these  trials  that  we  forgot  to 
consider  what  was,  after  all,  the  vital  question  —  the  probable 
result  in  hard  cash.  Indeed,  the  marvels  of  the  great  city 
proved  so  fascinating,  that  we  started  off  in  a  cab,  for  all  the 
world  as  if  we  were  on  a  pleasure  trip,  to  follow  up  a  plan  I  had 
sketched  on  my  map  of  London.  In  our  wonder  and  delight 
at  what  we  saw,  we  quite  forgot  all  we  had  gone  through. 
Costly  as  it  proved,  I  considered  our  week's  stay  justified  in 
view  of  Minna's  need  of  rest  in  the  first  place,  and  secondly, 
the  excellent  opportunity  it  afforded  me  of  making  acquaint- 
ances in  the  musical  world.  During  my  last  visit  to  Dresden 
I  had  sent  Rule  Britannia,  the  overture  composed  at  Kb'nigs- 
berg,  to  Sir  John  Smart,  president  of  the  Philharmonic  Society. 
It  is  true  he  had  never  acknowledged  it,  but  I  felt  it  the  more 
incumbent  on  me  to  bring  him  to  task  about  it.  I  therefore 
spent  some  days  trying  to  find  out  where  he  lived,  wondering 
meanwhile  in  which  language  I  should  have  to  make  myself 
understood,  but  as  the  result  of  my  inquiries  I  discovered  that 
Smart  was  not  in  London  at  all.  I  next  persuaded  myself 
that  it  would  be  a  good  thing  to  look  up  Bulwer  Lytton,  and 
to  come  to  an  understanding  about  the  operatic  performance 
of  his  novel,  Rienzi,  which  I  had  dramatised.  Having  been 
told,  on  the  continent,  that  Bulwer  was  a  member  of  Parlia- 
ment, I  went  to  the  House,  after  a  few  days,  to  inquire  on  the 
spot.  My  total  ignorance  of  the  English  language  stood  me  in 
good  stead  here,  and  I  was  treated  with  unexpected  considera- 
tion; for,  as  none  of  the  lower  officials  in  that  vast  building 
could  make  out  what  I  wanted,  I  was  sent,  step  by  step,  to  one 
high  dignitary  after  the  other,  until  at  last  I  was  introduced  to 
a  distinguished-looking  man,  who  came  out  of  a  large  hall  as 
we  passed,  as  an  entirely  unintelligible  individual.  (Minna  was 
with  me  all  the  time;  only  Robber  had  been  left  behind  at 
the  King's  Arms.)  He  asked  me  very  civilly  what  I  wanted, 
in  French,  and  seemed  favourably  impressed  when  I  inquired 
for  the  celebrated  author.  He  was  obliged  to  tell  me,  however, 
that  he  was  not  in  London.  I  went  on  to  ask  whether  I  could 
not  be  admitted  to  a  debate,  but  was  told  that,  in  consequence 


206  MY   LIFE 

of  the  old  Houses  of  Parliament  having  been  burnt  down,  they 
were  using  temporary  premises  where  the  space  was  so  limited 
that  only  a  few  favoured  visitors  could  procure  cards  of  admit- 
tance. But  on  my  pressing  more  urgently  he  relented,  and 
shortly  after  opened  a  door  leading  direct  into  the  strangers' 
seats  in  the  House  of  Lords.  It  seemed  reasonable  to  con- 
clude from  this  that  our  friend  was  a  lord  in  person.  I  was 
immensely  interested  to  see  and  hear  the  Premier,  Lord  Mel- 
bourne, and  Brougham  (who  seemed  to  me  to  take  a  very 
active  part  in  the  proceedings,  prompting  Melbourne  several 
times,  as  I  thought),  and  the  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  looked 
so  comfortable  in  his  grey  beaver  hat,  with  his  hands  diving 
deep  into  his  trousers  pockets,  and  who  made  his  speech  in  so 
conversational  a  tone  that  I  lost  my  feeling  of  excessive  awe. 
He  had  a  curious  way,  too,  of  accenting  his  points  of  special 
emphasis  by  shaking  his  whole  body.  I  was  also  much  inter- 
ested in  Lord  Lyndhurst,  Brougham's  particular  enemy,  and 
was  amazed  to  see  Brougham  go  across  several  times  to  sit 
down  coolly  beside  him,  apparently  with  a  view  to  prompting 
even  his  opponent.  The  matter  in  hand  was,  as  I  learned 
afterwards  from  the  papers,  the  discussion  of  measures  to  be 
taken  against  the  Portuguese  Government  to  ensure  the  pass- 
ing of  the  Anti-Slavery  Bill.  The  Bishop  of  London,  who 
was  one  of  the  speakers  on  this  occasion,  was  the  only  one  of 
these  gentlemen  whose  voice  and  manner  seemed  to  me  stiff 
or  unnatural,  but  possibly  I  was  prejudiced  by  my  dislike  of 
parsons  generally. 

After  this  pleasing  adventure  I  imagined  I  had  exhausted 
the  attractions  of  London  for  the  present,  for  although  I  could 
not  gain  admittance  to  the  Lower  House,  my  untiring  friend, 
whom  I  came  across  again  as  I  went  out,  showed  me  the  room 
where  the  Commons  sat,  explained  as  much  as  was  necessary, 
and  gave  me  a  sight  of  the  Speaker's  woolsack,  and  of  his 
mace  lying  hidden  under  the  table.  He  also  gave  me  such 
careful  details  of  various  things  that  I  felt  I  knew  all  there  was 
to  know  about  the  capital  of  Great  Britain.  I  had  not  the 
smallest  intention  of  going  to  the  Italian  opera,  possibly 
because  I  imagined  the  prices  to  be  too  ruinous.  We 
thoroughly  explored  all  the  principal  streets,  often  tiring 


DEPASTURE  FOR  BOULOGNE      207 

ourselves  out ;  we  shuddered  through  a  ghastly  London  Sunday, 
and  wound  up  with  a  train  trip  (our  very  first)  to  Gravesend 
Park,  in  the  company  of  the  captain  of  the  Thetis.  On  the 
20th  of  August  we  crossed  over  to  France  by  steamer, 
arriving  the  same  evening  at  Boulogne-sur-mer,  where  we 
took  leave  of  the  sea  with  the  fervent  desire  never  to  go  on 
it  again. 

We  were  both  of  us  secretly  convinced  that  we  should  meet 
with  disappointments  in  Paris,  and  it  was  partly  on  that  ac- 
count that  we  decided  to  spend  a  few  weeks  at  or  near  Boulogne. 
It  was,  in  any  case,  too  early  in  the  season  to  find  the  various 
important  people  whom  I  proposed  to  see,  in  town;  on  the 
other  hand,  it  seemed  to  me  a  most  fortunate  circumstance 
that  Meyerbeer  should  happen  to  be  at  Boulogne.  Also,  I 
had  the  instrumentation  of  part  of  the  second  act  of  Rienzi  to 
finish,  and  was  bent  on  having  at  least  half  of  the  work  ready 
to  show  on  my  arrival  in  the  costly  French  capital.  We  there- 
fore set  out  to  find  less  expensive  accommodation  in  the  country 
round  Boulogne.  Beginning  with  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood, our  search  ended  in  our  taking  two  practically  unfurnished 
rooms  in  the  detached  house  of  a  rural  wine  merchant's,  situated 
on  the  main  road  to  Paris  at  half  an  hour's  distance  from 
Boulogne.  We  next  provided  scanty  but  adequate  furniture, 
and  in  bringing  our  wits  to  bear  upon  this  matter  Minna  par- 
ticularly distinguished  herself.  Besides  a  bed  and  two  chairs, 
we  dug  up  a  table,  which,  after  I  had  cleared  away  my  Rienzi 
papers,  served  for  our  meals,  which  we  had  to  prepare  at  our 
own  fireside. 

While  we  were  here  I  made  my  first  call  on  Meyerbeer.  I 
had  often  read  in  the  papers  of  his  proverbial  amiability,  and 
bore  him  no  ill-will  for  not  replying  to  my  letter.  My  favour- 
able opinion  was  soon  to  be  confirmed,  however,  by  his  kind 
reception  of  me.  The  impression  he  made  was  good  in  every 
respect,  particularly  as  regards  his  appearance.  The  years  had 
not  yet  given  his  features  the  flabby  look  which  sooner  or  later 
mars  most  Jewish  faces,  and  the  fine  formation  of  his  brow 
round  about  the  eyes  gave  him  an  expression  of  countenance 
that  inspired  confidence.  He  did  not  seem  in  the  least  inclined 
to  depreciate  my  intention  of  trying  my  luck  in  Paris  as  a 


208 


LIFE 


composer  of  opera;  he  allowed  me  to  read  him  my  libretto  for 
Rienzi,  and  really  listened  up  to  the  end  of  the  third  act.  He 
kept  the  two  acts  that  were  complete,  saying  that  he  wished 
to  look  them  over,  and  assured  me,  when  I  again  called  on  him, 
of  his  whole-hearted  interest  in  my  work.  Be  this  as  it  may, 
it  annoyed  me  somewhat  that  he  should  again  and  again  fall 
back  on  praising  my  minute  handwriting,  an  accomplishment 
he  considered  especially  Saxonian.  He  promised  to  give  me 
letters  of  recommendation  to  Duponchel,  the  manager  of  the 
Opera  House,  and  to  Habeneck,  the  conductor.  I  now  felt 
that  I  had  good  cause  to  extol  my  good  fortune  which,  after 
many  vicissitudes,  had  sent  me  precisely  to  this  particular 
spot  in  France.  What  better  fortune  could  have  befallen  me 
than  to  secure,  in  so  short  a  time,  the  sympathetic  interest  of 
the  most  famous  composer  of  French  opera!  Meyerbeer  took 
me  to  see  Moscheles,  who  was  then  in  Boulogne,  and  also 
Fraulein  Blahedka,  a  celebrated  virtuoso  whose  name  I  had 
known  for  many  years.  I  spent  a  few  informal  musical  even- 
ings at  both  houses,  and  thus  came  into  close  touch  with  musical 
celebrities,  an  experience  quite  new  to  me. 

I  had  written  to  my  future  brother-in-law,  Avernarius,  in 
Paris,  to  ask  him  to  find  us  suitable  accommodations,  and  we 
started  on  our  journey  thither  on  16th  September  in  the  dili- 
gence, my  efforts  to  hoist  Robber  on  to  the  top  being  attended 
by  the  usual  difficulties. 

My  first  impression  of  Paris  proved  disappointing  in  view 
of  the  great  expectations  I  had  cherished  of  that  city;  after 
London  it  seemed  to  me  narrow  and  confined.  I  had  imagined 
the  famous  boulevards  to  be  much  vaster,  for  instance,  and  was 
really  annoyed,  when  the  huge  coach  put  us  down  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Juissienne,  to  think  that  I  should  first  set  foot  on  Parisian 
soil  in  such  a  wretched  little  alley.  Neither  did  the  Rue 
Richelieu,  where  my  brother-in-law  had  his  book-shop,  seem 
imposing  after  the  streets  in  the  west  end  of  London.  As  for 
the  chambre  garnie,  which  had  been  engaged  for  me  in  the  Rue 
de  la  Tonnellerie,  one  of  the  narrow  side-streets  which  link  the 
Rue  St.  Honore  with  the  Marche  des  Innocents,  I  felt  positively 
degraded  at  having  to  take  up  my  abode  there.  I  needed  all 
tin1  consolation  that  could  be  derived  from  an  inscription, 


FIRST   DAYS    IN   PARIS  209 

placed  under  a  bust  of  Moliere,  which  read:  maison  ou  naquit 
Moliere,  to  raise  my  courage  after  the  mean  impression  the 
house  had  first  made  upon  me.  The  room,  which  had  been 
prepared  for  us  on  the  fourth  floor,  was  small  but  cheerful, 
decently  furnished,  and  inexpensive.  From  the  windows  we 
could  see  the  frightful  bustle  in  the  market  below,  which  became 
more  and  more  alarming  as  we  watched  it,  and  I  wondered 
what  we  were  doing  in  such  a  quarter. 

Shortly  after  this,  Avenarius  had  to  go  to  Leipzig  to  bring 
home  his  bride,  my  youngest  sister  Cecilia,  after  the  wedding 
in  that  city.  Before  leaving,  he  gave  me  an  introduction  to  his 
only  musical  acquaintance,  a  German  holding  an  appointment 
in  the  music  department  of  the  Bibliotheque  Royale,  named 
E.  G.  Anders,  who  lost  no  time  in  looking  us  up  in  Moliere's 
house.  He  was,  as  I  soon  discovered,  a  man  of  very  unusual 
character,  and,  little  as  he  was  able  to  help  me,  he  left  an 
affecting  and  ineffaceable  impression  on  my  memory.  He  was 
a  bachelor  in  the  fifties,  whose  reverses  had  driven  him  to  the 
sad  necessity  of  earning  a  living  in  Paris  entirely  without  as- 
sistance. He  had  fallen  back  on  the  extraordinary  biblio- 
graphical knowledge  which,  especially  in  reference  to  music,  it 
had  been  his  hobby  to  acquire  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity. 
His  real  name  he  never  told  me,  wishing  to  guard  the  secret 
of  that,  as  of  his  misfortunes,  until  after  his  death.  For  the 
time  being  he  told  me  only  that  he  was  known  as  Anders,  was 
of  noble  descent,  and  had  held  property  on  the  Rhine,  but 
that  he  had  lost  everything  owing  to  the  villainous  betrayal 
of  his  gullibility  and  good-nature.  The  only  thing  he  had  man- 
aged to  save  was  his  very  considerable  library,  the  size  of 
which  I  was  able  to  estimate  for  myself.  It  filled  every  wall 
of  his  small  dwelling.  Even  here  in  Paris  he  soon  complained 
of  bitter  enemies ;  for,  in  spite  of  having  come  furnished  with 
an  introduction  to  influential  people,  he  still  held  the  inferior 
position  of  an  employee  in  the  library.  In  spite  of  his  long 
service  there  and  his  great  learning,  he  had  to  see  really  ignorant 
men  promoted  over  his  head.  I  discovered  afterwards  that  the 
real  reason  lay  in  his  unbusinesslike  methods,  and  the  effemi- 
nacy consequent  on  the  delicate  way  in  which  he  had  been 
nutured  in  early  life,  which  made  him  incapable  of  developing 


210  MY   LIFE 

the  energy  necessary  for  his  work.  On  a  miserable  pittance  of 
fifteen  hundred  francs  a  year,  he  led  a  weary  existence,  full  of 
anxiety.  With  nothing  in  view  but  a  lonely  old  age,  and  the 
probability  of  dying  in  a  hospital,  it  seemed  as  if  our  society 
put  new  life  into  him;  for  though  we  were  poverty-stricken, 
we  looked  forward  boldly  and  hopefully  to  the  future.  My 
vivacity  and  invincible  energy  filled  him  with  hopes  of  my 
success,  and  from  this  time  forward  he  took  a  most  tender 
and  unselfish  part  in  furthering  my  interests.  Although  he 
was  a  contributor  to  the  Gazette  Musicale,  edited  by  Moritz 
Schlesinger,  he  had  never  succeeded  in  making  his  influence  felt 
there  in  the  slightest  degree.  He  had  none  of  the  versatility 
of  a  journalist,  and  the  editors  entrusted  him  with  little  besides 
the  preparation  of  bibliographical  notes.  Oddly  enough,  it 
was  with  this  unworldly  and  least  resourceful  of  men  that  I 
had  to  discuss  my  plan  for  the  conquest  of  Paris,  that  is,  of 
musical  Paris,  which  is  made  up  of  all  the  most  questionable 
characters  imaginable.  The  result  was  practically  always  the 
same ;  we  merely  encouraged  each  other  in  the  hope  that  some 
unforeseen  stroke  of  luck  would  help  my  cause. 

To  assist  us  in  these  discussions  Anders  called  in  his  friend 
and  housemate  Lehrs,  a  philologist,  my  acquaintance  with 
whom  was  soon  to  develop  into  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
friendships  of  my  life.  Lehrs  was  the  younger  brother  of  a 
famous  scholar  at  Konigsberg.  He  had  left  there  to  come  to 
Paris  some  years  before,  with  the  object  of  gaining  an  indepen- 
dent position  by  his  philological  work.  This  he  preferred,  in 
spite  of  the  attendant  difficulties,  to  a  post  as  teacher  with  a 
salary  which  only  in  Germany  could  be  considered  sufficient 
for  a  scholar's  wants.  He  soon  obtained  work  from  Didot,  the 
bookseller,  as  assistant  editor  of  a  large  edition  of  Greek  classics, 
but  the  editor  traded  on  his  poverty,  and  was  much  more  con- 
cerned about  the  success  of  his  enterprise  than  about  the  con- 
dition of  his  poor  collaborator.  Lehrs  had  therefore  perpetu- 
ally to  struggle  against  poverty,  but  he  preserved  an  even 
temper,  and  showed  himself  in  every  way  a  model  of  disin- 
terestedness and  self-sacrifice.  At  first  he  looked  upon  me 
only  as  a  man  in  need  of  advice,  and  incidentally  a  fellow- 
sufferer  in  Paris;  for  he  had  no  knowledge  of  music,  and  had 


DUPONCHEL.      HABENECK  211 

no  particular  interest  in  it.  We  soon  became  so  intimate  that 
I  had  him  dropping  in  nearly  every  evening  with  Anders, 
Lehrs  being  extremely  useful  to  his  friend,  whose  unsteadiness 
in  walking  obliged  him  to  use  an  umbrella  and  a  walking-stick 
as  crutches.  He  was  also  nervous  in  crossing  crowded  thorough- 
fares, and  particularly  so  at  night;  while  he  always  liked  to 
make  Lehrs  cross  my  threshold  in  front  of  him  to  distract  the 
attention  of  Robber,  of  whom  he  stood  in  obvious  terror.  Our 
usually  good-natured  dog  became  positively  suspicious  of  this 
visitor,  and  soon  adopted  towards  him  the  same  aggressive 
attitude  which  he  had  shown  to  the  sailor  Koske  on  board  the 
Thetis.  The  two  men  lived  at  an  hotel  garni  in  Rue  de  Seine. 
They  complained  greatly  of  their  landlady,  who  appropriated 
so  much  of  their  income  that  they  were  entirely  in  her  power. 
Anders  had  for  years  been  trying  to  assert  his  independence 
by  leaving  her,  without  being  able  to  carry  out  his  plan.  We 
soon  threw  off  mutually  every  shred  of  disguise  as  to  the 
present  state  of  our  finances,  so  that,  although  the  two  house- 
holds were  actually  separated,  our  common  troubles  gave  us  all 
the  intimacy  of  one  united  family. 

The  various  ways  by  which  I  might  obtain  recognition  in 
Paris  formed  the  chief  topic  of  our  discussions  at  that  time. 
Our  hopes  were  at  first  centred  on  Meyerbeer's  promised  letters 
of  introduction.  Duponchel,  the  director  of  the  Opera,  did 
actually  see  me  at  his  ofiice,  where,  fixing  a  monocle  in  his 
right  eye,  he  read  through  Meyerbeer's  letter  without  betraying 
the  least  emotion,  having  no  doubt  opened  similar  communi- 
cations from  the  composer  many  times  before.  I  went  away, 
and  never  heard  another  word  from  him.  The  elderly  con- 
ductor, Habeneck,  on  the  other  hand,  took  an  interest  in  my 
work  that  was  not  merely  polite,  and  acceded  to  my  request  to 
have  something  of  mine  played  at  one  of  the  orchestral  practises 
at  the  Conservatoire  as  soon  as  he  should  have  leisure.  I  had, 
unfortunately,  no  short  instrumental  piece  that  seemed  suitable 
except  my  queer  Columbus  Overture,  which  I  considered  the 
most  effective  of  all  that  had  emanated  from  my  pen.  It  had 
been  received  with  great  applause  on  the  occasion  of  its  per- 
formance in  the  theatre  at  Magdeburg,  with  the  assistance  of 
the  valiant  trumpeters  from  the  Prussian  garrison.  I  gave 


212  MY   LIFE 

Habeneck  the  score  and  parts,  and  was  able  to  report  to  our 
committee  at  home  that  I  had  now  one  enterprise  on  foot 

I  gave  up  the  attempt  to  try  and  see  Scribe  on  the  mere 
ground  of  our  having  had  some  correspondence,  for  my  friends 
had  made  it  clear  to  me,  in  the  light  of  their  own  experience, 
that  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  expect  this  exceptionally 
busy  author  to  occupy  himself  seriously  with  a  young  and 
unknown  musician.  Anders  was  able  to  introduce  me  to 
another  acquaintance,  however,  a  certain  M.  Dumersan.  This 
grey-haired  gentleman  had  written  some  hundred  vaudeville 
pieces,  and  would  have  been  glad  to  see  one  of  them  performed 
as  an  opera  on  a  larger  scale  before  his  death.  He  had  no  idea 
of  standing  on  his  dignity  as  an  author,  and  was  quite  willing 
to  undertake  the  translation  of  an  existing  libretto  into  French 
verse.  We  therefore  entrusted  him  with  the  writing  of  my 
Liebesverbot,  with  a  view  to  a  performance  at  the  Theatre 
de  la  Kenaissance,  as  it  was  then  called.  (It  was  the  third 
existing  theatre  for  lyric  drama,  the  performances  being  given 
in  the  new  Salle  Ventadour,  which  had  been  rebuilt  after  its 
destruction  by  fire.)  On  the  understanding  that  it  was  to  be 
a  literal  translation,  he  at  once  turned  the  three  numbers  of 
my  opera,  for  which  I  hoped  to  secure  a  hearing,  into  neat 
French  verse.  Besides  this,  he  asked  me  to  compose  a  chorus 
for  a  vaudeville  entitled  La  Descente  de  la  Courtille,  which  was 
to  be  played  at  the  Varietes  during  the  carnival. 

This  was  a  second  opening.  .My  friends  now  strongly  advised 
me  to  write  something  small  in  the  way  of  songs,  which  I  could 
offer  to  popular  singers  for  concert  purposes.  Both  Lehrs  and 
Anders  produced  words  for  these.  Anders  brought  a  very 
innocent  Dors,  mon  enfant,  written  by  a  young  poet  of  his 
acquaintance;  this  was  the  first  thing  I  composed  to  a  French 
text.  It  was  so  successful  that,  when  I  had  tried  it  over  softly 
several  times  on  the  piano,  my  wife,  who  was  in  bed,  called  out 
to  me  that  it  was  heavenly  for  sending  one  to  sleep.  I  also 
set  L'Attente  from  Hugo's  Orientates,  and  Eonsard's  song, 
Mignonne,  to  music.  I  have  no  reason  to  be  ashamed  of  these 
small  pieces,  which  I  published  subsequently  as  a  musical  sup- 
plement to  Europa  (Lewald's  publication)  in  1841. 

I  next  stumbled  on  the  idea  of  writing  a  grand  bass  aria  with 


CALL   ON   MEYERBEER  213 

a  chorus,  for  Lablache  to  introduce  into  his  part  of  Orovist 
in  Bellini's  Norma.  Lehrs  had  to  hunt  up  an  Italian  political 
refugee  to  get  the  text  out  of  him.  This  was  done,  and  I 
produced  an  effective  composition  a  la  Bellini  (which  still 
exists  among  my  manuscripts),  and  went  off  at  once  to  offer 
it  to  Lablache. 

The  friendly  Moor,  who  received  me  in  the  great  singer's 
anteroom,  insisted  upon  admitting  me  straight  into  his  master's 
presence  without  announcing  me.  As  I  had  anticipated  some 
difficulty  in  getting  near  such  a  celebrity,  I  had  written  my 
request,  as  I  thought  this  would  be  simpler  than  explaining 
verbally. 

The  black  servant's  pleasant  manner  made  me  feel  very  un- 
comfortable; I  entrusted  my  score  and  letter  to  him  to  give  to 
Lablache,  without  taking  any  notice  of  his  kindly  astonishment 
at  my  refusal  of  his  repeated  invitation  to  go  into  his  master's 
room  and  have  an  interview,  and  I  left  the  house  hurriedly, 
intending  to  call  for  my  answer  in  a  few  days.  When  I  came 
back  Lablache  received  me  most  kindly,  and  assured  me  that 
my  aria  was  excellent,  though  it  was  impossible  to  introduce 
it  into  Bellini's  opera  after  the  latter  had  already  been  per- 
formed so  very  often.  My  relapse  into  the  domain  of  Bellini's 
style,  of  which  I  had  been  guilty  through  the  writing  of  this  aria, 
was  therefore  useless  to  me,  and  I  soon  became  convinced  of 
the  fruitlessness  of  my  efforts  in  that  direction.  I  saw  that  I 
should  need  personal  introductions  to  various  singers  in  order 
to  ensure  the  production  of  one  of  my  other  compositions. 

When  Meyerbeer  at  last  arrived  in  Paris,  therefore,  I  was 
delighted.     He  was  not  in  the  least  astonished  at  the  lack  of 
success  of  his  letters  of  introduction ;   on  the  contrary,  he  made 
use  of  this  opportunity  to  impress  upon  me  how  difficult  it  was  ' 
to  get  on  in  Paris,  and  how  necessary  it  was  for  me  to  look  ' 
out  for  less  pretentious  work.     With  this  object  he  introduced 
me  to  Maurice  Schlesinger,  and  leaving  me  at  the  mercy  of 
that  monstrous  person,  went  back  to  Germany. 

At  first  Schlesinger  did  not  know  what  to  do  with  me;  the 
acquaintances  I  made  through  him  (of  whom  the  chief  was 
the  violinist  Panofka)  led  to  nothing,  and  I  therefore  returned 
to  my  advisory  board  at  home,  through  whose  influence  I  had 


214:  MY    LIFE 

recently  received  an  order  to  compose  the  music  to  the  Two 
Grenadiers,  by  Heine,  translated  by  a  Parisian  professor.  I 
wrote  this  song  for  baritone,  and  was  very  pleased  with  the 
result;  on  Ander's  advice  I  now  tried  to  find  singers  for  my 
new  compositions.  Mme.  Pauline  Viardot,  on  whom  I  first 
called,  went  through  my  songs  with  me.  She  was  very  amiable, 
and  praised  them,  but  did  not  see  why  she  should  sing  them. 
I  went  through  the  same  experience  with  a  Mme.  Widmann,  a 
grand  contralto,  who  sang  my  Dors,  mon  enfant  with  great 
feeling;  all  the  same  she  had  no  further  use  for  my  composi- 
tion. A  certain  M.  Dupont,  third  tenor  at  the  grand  opera, 
tried  my  setting  of  the  Ronsard  poem,  but  declared  that  the 
language  in  which  it  was  written  was  no  longer  palatable  to  the 
Paris  public.  M.  Geraldy,  a  favourite  concert  singer  and 
teacher,  who  allowed  me  to  call  and  see  him  frequently,  told 
me  that  the  Two  Grenadiers  was  impossible,  for  the  simple 
reason  that  the  accompaniment  at  the  end  of  the  song,  which 
I  had  modelled  upon  the  Marseillaise,  could  only  be  sung  in 
the  streets  of  Paris  to  the  accompaniment  of  cannons  and  gun- 
shots. Habeneck  was  the  only  person  who  fulfilled  his  promise 
to  conduct  my  Columbus  Overture  at  one  of  the  rehearsals  for 
the  benefit  of  Anders  and  myself.  As,  however,  there  was  no 
question  of  producing  this  work  even  at  one  of  the  celebrated 
Conservatoire  concerts,  I  saw  clearly  that  the  old  gentleman 
was  only  moved  by  kindness  and  a  desire  to  encourage  me.  It 
could  not  lead  to  anything  further,  and  I  myself  was  con- 
vinced that  this  extremely  superficial  work  of  my  young  days 
could  only  give  the  orchestra  a  wrong  impression  of  my  talents. 
However,  these  rehearsals,  to  my  surprise,  made  such  an  un- 
expected impression  on  me  in  other  ways  that  they  exercised 
a  decisive  influence  in  the  crisis  of  my  artistic  development. 
This  was  due  to  the  fact  that  I  listened  repeatedly  to  Bee- 
thoven's Ninth  Symphony,  which,  by  dint  of  untiring  practice, 
received  such  a  marvellous  interpretation  at  the  hands  of  this 
celebrated  orchestra,  that  the  picture  I  had  had  of  it  in  my 
mind  in  the  enthusiastic  days  of  my  youth  now  stood  before 
me  almost  tangibly  in  brilliant  colours,  undimmed,  as  though 
it  had  never  been  effaced  by  the  Leipzig  orchestra  who  had 
slaughtered  it  under  Pohlenz's  baton.  Where  formerly  I  had 


AN    OVERTURE    TO    FAUST  215 

only  seen  mystic  constellations  and  weird  shapes  without  mean- 
ing, I  now  found,  flowing  from  innumerable  sources,  a  stream 
of  the  most  touching  and  heavenly  melodies  which  delighted 
my  heart 

The  whole  of  that  period  of  the  deterioration  of  my  musical 
tastes  which  dated,  practically  speaking,  from  those  selfsame 
confusing  ideas  about  Beethoven,  and  which  had  grown  so 
much  worse  through  my  acquaintance  with  that  dreadful 
theatre  —  all  these  wrong  views  now  sank  down  as  if  into  an 
abyss  of  shame  and  remorse. 

This  inner  change  had  been  gradually  prepared  by  many 
painful  experiences  during  the  last  few  years.  I  owed  the 
recovery  of  my  old  vigour  and  spirits  to  the  deep  impression 
the  rendering  of  the  Ninth  Symphony  had  made  on  me  when 
performed  in  a  way  I  had  never  dreamed  of.  This  important 
event  in  my  life  can  only  be  compared  to  the  upheaval  caused 
within  me  when,  as  a  youth  of  sixteen,  I  saw  Schroder-Devrient 
act  in  Fidelio. 

The  direct  result  of  this  was  my  intense  longing  to  compose 
something  that  would  give  me  a  similar  feeling  of  satisfaction, 
and  this  desire  grew  in  proportion  to  my  anxiety  about  my 
unfortunate  position  in  Paris,  which  made  me  almost  despair 
of  success. 

In  this  mood  I  sketched  an  overture  to  Faust  which, 
according  to  my  original  scheme,  was  only  to  form  the  first 
part  of  a  whole  Faust  Symphony,  as  I  had  already  got 
the  '  Gretchen '  idea  in  my  head  for  the  second  movement 
This  is  the  same  composition  that  I  rewrote  in  several  parts 
fifteen  years  later;  I  had  forgotten  all  about  it,  and  I  owed 
its  reconstruction  to  the  advice  of  Liszt,  who  gave  me  many 
valuable  hints.  This  composition  has  been  performed  many 
times  under  the  title  of  eine  Faust-ouveriure,  and  has  met 
with  great  appreciation.  At  the  time  of  which  I  am  speak- 
ing, I  hoped  that  the  Conservatoire  orchestra  would  have 
been  willing  to  give  the  work  a  hearing,  but  I  was  told  they 
thought  they  had  done  enough  for  me,  and  hoped  to  be  rid  of 
me  for  some  time. 

Having  failed  everywhere,  I  now  turned  to  Meyerbeer  for 
more  introductions,  especially  to  singers.  I  was  very  much 


216  MY   LIFE 

surprised  wh'en,  in  consequence  of  my  request,  Meyerbeer  intro- 
duced me  to  a  certain  M.  Gouin,  a  post-office  official,  and 
Meyerbeer's  sole  agent  in  Paris,  whom  he  instructed  to  do  his 
utmost  for  me.  Meyerbeer  specially  wished  me  to  know  M. 
Antenor  Joly,  director  of  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance,  the 
musical  theatre  already  mentioned.  M.  Gouin,  with  almost 
suspicious  levity,  promised  me  to  produce  my  opera  Liebes- 
verbot,  which  now  only  required  translation.  There  was  a 
question  of  having  a  few  numbers  of  my  opera  sung  to  the 
committee  of  the  theatre  at  a  special  audience.  When  I 
suggested  that  some  of  the  singers  of  this  very  theatre  should 
undertake  to  sing  three  of  the  numbers  which  had  been  already 
translated  by  Dumersan,  I  was  refused  on  the  plea  that  all 
these  artists  were  far  too  busy.  But  Gouin  saw  a  way  out 
of  the  difficulty;  on  the  authority  of  Maitre  Meyerbeer,  he 
won  over  to  our  cause  several  singers  who  were  under  an 
obligation  to  Meyerbeer:  Mme.  Dorus-Gras,  a  real  prima- 
donna  of  the  Grand  Opera,  Mme.  Widmann  and  M.  Dupont 
(the  two  last-named  had  previously  refused  to  help  me)  now 
promised  to  sing  for  me  at  this  audience. 

This  much,  then,  did  I  achieve  in  six  months.  It  was  now 
nearly  Easter  of  the  year  1840.  Encouraged  by  Gouin's 
negotiations,  which  seenied  to  spell  hope,  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  move  from  the  obscure  Quartier  des  Innocents  to  a  part 
of  Paris  nearer  to  the  musical  centre;  and  in  this  I  was 

'•  encouraged  by  Lehrs'  foolhardy  advice. 

f      What  this  change  meant  to  me,  my  readers  will  learn  when 

'  they  hear  under  what  circumstances  we  had  dragged  on  our 

\existence  during  our  stay  in  Paris. 

Although  we  were  living  in  the  cheapest  possible  way, 
dining  at  a  very  small  restaurant  for  a  franc  a  head,  it  was 
impossible  to  prevent  the  rest  of  our  money  from  melting 
away.  Our  friend  Moller  had  given  us  to  understand  that  we 
could  ask  him  if  we  were  in  need,  as  he  would  put  aside  for  us 
the  first  money  that  came  in  from  any  successful  business 
transaction.  There  was  no  alternative  but  to  apply  to  him  for 
money;  in  the  meantime  we  pawned  all  the  trinkets  we 
possessed  that  were  of  any  value.  As  I  was  too  shy  to  make 
inquiries  about  a  pawnshop,  I  looked  up  the  French  equivalent 


STRAITENED    CIRCUMSTANCES  217 

in  the  dictionary  in  order  to  be  able  to  recognise  such  a  place 
when  I  saw  it.  In  my  little  pocket  dictionary  I  could  not  find 
any  other  word  than  l  Lombard.'  On  looking  at  a  map  of 
Paris  I  found,  situated  in  the  middle  of  an  inextricable  maze 
of  streets,  a  very  small  lane  called  Rue  des  Lombards.  Thither 
I  wended  my  way,  but  my  expedition  was  fruitless.  Often, 
on  reading  by  the  light  of  the  transparent  lanterns  the  in- 
scription (  Mont  de  Piete,'  I  became  very  curious  to  know  its 
meaning,  and  on  consulting  my  advisory  board  at  home  about 
this  '  Mount  of  Piety/  *  I  was  told,  to  my  great  delight,  that  it 
was  precisely  there  that  I  should  find  salvation.  To  this  '  Mont 
de  Piete  '  we  now  carried  all  we  possessed  in  the  way  of  silver, 
namely,  our  wedding  presents.  After  that  followed  my  wife's 
trinkets  and  the  rest  of  her  former  theatrical  wardrobe,  amongst 
which  was  a  beautiful  silver-embroidered  blue  dress  with  a 
court  train,  once  the  property  of  the  Duchess  of  Dessau.  Still 
we  heard  nothing  from  our  friend  Moller,  and  we  were  obliged 
to  wait  on  from  day  to  day  for  the  sorely  needed  help  from 
Konigsberg,  and  at  last,  one  dark  day,  we  pledged  our  wedding 
rings.  When  all  hope  of  assistance  seemed  vain,  I  heard  that 
the  pawn-tickets  themselves  were  of  some  value,  as  they  could 
be  sold  to  buyers,  who  thereby  acquired  the  right  to  redeem 
the  pawned  articles.  I  had  to  resort  even  to  this,  and  thus 
the  blue  court-dress,  for  instance,  was  lost  for  ever.  Moller 
never  wrote  again.  When  later  on  he  called  on  me  at  the  time 
of  my  conductorship  in  Dresden,  he  admitted  that  he  had 
been  embittered  against  me  owing  to  humiliating  and  deroga- 
tory remarks  we  were  said  to  have  made  about  him  after  we 
parted,  and  had  resolved  not  to  have  anything  further  to  do 
with  us.  We  were  certain  of  our  innocence  in  the  matter,  and 
very  grieved  at  having,  through  pure  slander,  lost  the  chance 
of  such  assistance  in  our  great  need. 

At  the  beginning  of  our  pecuniary  difficulties  we  sustained 
a  loss  which  we  looked  upon  as  providential,  in  spite  of  the 
grief  it  caused  us.  This  was  our  beautiful  dog,  which  we  had 
managed  to  bring  across  to  Paris  with  endless  difficulty.  As 
he  was  a  very  valuable  animal,  and  attracted  much  attention, 

1  This  is  the  correct  translation  of  the  words  Berg  der  FrSmmigkeit  used 
m  the  original.  —  EDITOR. 


218  MY   LIFE 

he  had  probably  been  stolen.  In  spite  of  the  terrible  state  of 
the  traffic  in  Paris,  he  had  always  found  his  way  home  in  the 
same  clever  manner  in  which  he  had  mastered  the  difficulties 
of  the  London  streets.  Quite  at  the  beginning  of  our  stay  in 
Paris  he  had  often  gone  off  by  himself  to  the  gardens  of  the 
Palais  Royal,  where  he  used  to  meet  many  of  his  friends,  and 
had  returned  safe  and  sound  after  a  brilliant  exhibition  of 
swimming  and  retrieving  before  an  audience  of  gutter  children. 
At  the  Quai  du  Pont-neuf  he  generally  begged  us  to  let  him 
bathe ;  there  he  used  to  draw  a  large  crowd  of  spectators  round 
him,  who  were  so  loud  in  their  enthusiasm  about  the  way  in 
which  he  dived  for  and  brought  to  land  various  objects  of 
clothing,  tools,  etc.,  that  the  police  begged  us  to  put  an  end 
to  the  obstruction.  One  morning  I  let  him  out  for  a  little  run 
as  usual ;  he  never  returned,  and  in  spite  of  our  most  strenuous 
efforts  to  recover  him,  no  trace  of  him  was  to  be  found.  This 
loss  seemed  to  many  of  our  friends  a  piece  of  luck,  for  they  could 
not  understand  how  it  was  possible  for  us  to  feed  such  a  huge 
animal  when  we  ourselves  had  not  enough  to  eat.  About  this 
time,  the  second  month  of  our  stay  in  Paris,  my  sister  Louisa 
came  over  from  Leipzig  to  join  her  husband,  Eriedrich  Brock- 
haus,  in  Paris,  where  he  had  been  waiting  for  her  for  some 
time.  They  intended  to  go  to  Italy  together,  and  Louisa  made 
use  of  this  opportunity  to  buy  all  kinds  of  expensive  things 
in  Paris.  I  did  not  expect  them  to  feel  any  pity  for  us  on 
account  of  our  foolish  removal  to  Paris,  and  its  attendant 
miseries,  or  that  they  should  consider  themselves  bound  to 
help  us  in  any  way;  but  although  we  did  not  try  to  conceal 
our  position,  we  derived  no  benefit  from  the  visit  of  our  rich 
relations.  Minna  was  even  kind  enough  to  help  my  sister 
with  her  luxurious  shopping,  and  we  were  very  anxious  not 
to  make  them  think  we  wanted  to  rouse  their  pity.  In  return 
my  sister  introduced  me  to  an  extraordinary  friend  of  hers, 
who  was  destined  to  take  a  great  interest  in  me.  This  was  the 
young  painter,  Ernst  Kietz,  from  Dresden;  he  was  an  excep- 
tionally kind-hearted  and  unaffected  young  man,  whose  talent 
for  portrait  painting  (in  a  sort  of  coloured  pastel  style)  had 
made  him  such  a  favourite  in  his  own  town,  that  he  had  been 
induced  by  his  financial  successes  to  come  to  Paris  for  a  time 


E.  KIETZ  AS  A  PAINTER  819 

to  finish  his  art  studies.  He  had  now  been  working  in  De- 
laroche's  studio  for  about  a  year.  He  had  a  curious  and 
almost  childlike  disposition,  and  his  lack  of  all  serious  educa- 
tion, combined  with  a  certain  weakness  of  character,  had  made 
him  choose  a  career  in  which  he  was  destined,  in  spite  of  all 
his  talent,  to  fail  hopelessly.  I  had  every  opportunity  of  rec- 
ognising this,  as  I  saw  a  great  deal  of  him.  At  the  time, 
however,  the  simple-hearted  devotion  and  kindness  of  this 
young  man  were  very  welcome  both  to  myself  and  my  wife, 
who  often  felt  lonely,  and  his  friendship  was  a  real  source  of 
help  in  our  darkest  hours  of  adversity.  He  became  almost  a 
member  of  the  family,  and  joined  our  home  circle  every  night, 
providing  a  strange  contrast  to  nervous  old  Anders  and  the 
grave-faced  Lehrs.  His  good-nature  and  his  quaint  remarks 
soon  made  him  indispensable  to  us ;  he  amused  us  tremendously 
with  his  French,  into  which  he  would  launch  with  the  greatest 
confidence,  although  he  could  not  put  together  two  consecutive 
sentences  properly,  in  spite  of  having  lived  in  Paris  for  twenty 
years.  With  Delaroche  he  studied  oil-painting,  and  had  ob- 
viously considerable  talent  in  this  direction,  although  it  was 
the  very  rock  on  which  he  stranded.  The  mixing  of  the  colours 
on  his  palette,  and  especially  the  cleaning  of  his  brushes,  took 
up  so  much  of  his  time  that  he  rarely  came  to  the  actual  paint- 
ing. As  the  days  were  very  short  in  midwinter,  he  never  had 
time  to  do  any  work  after  he  had  finished  washing  his  palette 
and  brushes,  and,  as  far  as  I  can  remember,  he  never  completed 
a  single  portrait.  Strangers  to  whom  he  had  been  introduced, 
and  who  had  given  him  orders  to  paint  their  portraits,  were 
obliged  to  leave  Paris  without  seeing  them  even  half  done, 
and  at  last  he  even  complained  because  some  of  his  sitters 
died  before  their  portraits  were  completed.  His  landlord,  to 
whom  he  was  always  in  debt  for  rent,  was  the  only  creature 
who  succeeded  in  getting  a  portrait  of  his  ugly  person  from 
the  painter,  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  only  finished 
portrait  in  existence  by  Kietz.  On  the  other  hand,  he  was 
very  clever  at  making  little  sketches  of  any  subject  suggested 
by  our  conversation  during  the  evening,  and  in  these  he  dis- 
played both  originality  and  delicacy  of  execution.  During 
the  winter  of  that  year  he  completed  a  good  pencil  portrait 


220  MY  LIFE 

of  me,  which  he  touched  up  two  years  afterwards  when  he 
knew  me  more  intimately,  finishing  it  off  as  it  now  stands. 
It  pleased  him  to  sketch  me  in  the  attitude  I  often  assumed 
during  our  evening  chats  when  I  was  in  a  cheerful  mood. 
No  evening  ever  passed  during  which  I  did  not  succeed  in 
shaking  off  the  depression  caused  by  my  vain  endeavours, 
and  by  the  many  worries  I  had  gone  through  during  the  day, 
and  in  regaining  my  natural  cheerfulness,  and  Kietz  was 
anxious  to  represent  me  to  the  world  as  a  man  who,  in  spite 
of  the  hard  times  he  had  to  face,  had  confidence  in  his  suc- 
cess, and  rose  smiling  above  the  troubles  of  life.  Before  the 
end  of  the  year  1839,  my  youngest  sister  Cecilia  also  arrived 
in  Paris  with  her  husband,  Edward  Avenarius.  It  was  only 
natural  that  she  should  feel  embarrassed  at  the  idea  of  meeting 
us  in  Paris  in  our  extremely  straitened  circumstances,  especi- 
ally as  her  husband  was  not  very  well  off.  Consequently,  in- 
stead of  calling  on  them  frequently,  we  preferred  waiting  until 
they  came  to  see  us,  which,  by  the  way,  took  them  a  long 
time.  On  the  other  hand,  the  renewal  of  our  acquaintance  with 
Heinrich  Laube,  who  came  over  to  Paris  at  the  beginning 
of  1840  with  his  young  wife,  Iduna  (nee  Budaus),  was  very 
cheering.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  wealthy  Leipzig  doctor, 
and  Laube  had  married  her  under  very  extraordinary  circum- 
stances, since  we  last  saw  him  in  Berlin;  they  intended  to 
enjoy  themselves  for  a  few  months  in  Paris.  During  the  long 
period  of  his  detention,  while  awaiting  his  trial,  this  young 
lady  had  been  so  touched  by  his  misfortunes  that  without 
knowing  much  of  him,  she  had  shown  great  sympathy  and  in- 
terest in  his  case.  Laube's  sentence  was  pronounced  soon  after 
I  left  Berlin;  it  was  unexpectedly  light,  consisting  of  only 
one  year's  imprisonment  in  the  town  gaol.  He  was  allowed 
to  undergo  this  term  in  the  prison  at  Muskau  in  Silesia,  where 
he  had  the  advantage  of  being  near  his  friend,  Prince  Piickler, 
who  in  his  official  capacity,  and  on  account  of  his  influence 
with  the  governor  of  the  prison,  was  permitted  to  afford  the 
prisoner  even  the  consolation  of  personal  intercourse. 

The  young  widow  resolved  to  marry  him  at  the  beginning  of 
his  term  of  imprisonment,  so  that  she  might  be  near  him  at 
Muskau  with  her  loving  assistance.  To  see  my  old  friend 


H.   HEINE.     LATJBE   AS   A   FRIEKD        221 

under  such  favourable  conditions  was  in  itself  a  pleasure  to 
me ;  I  also  experienced  the  liveliest  satisfaction  at  finding  there 
was  no  change  in  his  former  sympathetic  attitude.  We  met 
frequently;  our  wives  also  became  friends,  and  Laube  was  the 
first  to  approve  in  his  kindly  humorous  way  of  our  folly  in 
moving  to  Paris. 

In  his  house  I  made  the  acquaintance  of  Heinrich  Heine, 
and  both  of  them  joked  good-humouredly  over  my  extraordinary 
position,  making  even  me  laugh.  Laube  felt  himself  compelled 
to  talk  seriously  to  me  about  my  expectations  of  succeeding 
in  Paris,  as  he  saw  that  I  treated  my  situation,  based  on  such 
trivial  hopes,  with  a  humour  that  charmed  him  even  against 
his  better  judgment.  He  tried  to  think  how  he  could  help 
me  without  prejudicing  my  future.  With  this  object  he  wanted 
me  to  make  a  more  or  less  plausible  sketch  of  my  future  plans, 
so  that  on  his  approaching  visit  to  our  native  land  he  might 
procure  some  help  for  me.  I  happened  just  at  that  time  to 
have  come  to  an  exceedingly  promising  understanding  with 
the  management  of  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance.  I  thus 
seemed  to  have  obtained  a  footing,  and  I  thought  it  safe  to 
assert,  that  if  I  were  guaranteed  the  means  of  livelihood  for 
six  months,  I  could  not  fail  within  that  period  to  accomplish 
something.  Laube  promised  to  make  this  provision,  and  kept 
his  word.  He  induced  one  of  his  wealthy  friends  in  Leipzig, 
and,  following  this  example,  my  well-to-do  relations,  to  provide 
me  for  six  months  with  the  necessary  resources,  to  be  paid 
in  monthly  instalments  through  Avenarius. 

We  therefore  decided,  as  I  have  said,  to  leave  our  furnished 
apartments  and  take  a  flat  for  ourselves  in  the  Rue  du  Helder. 
My  prudent,  careful  wife  had  suffered  greatly  on  account  of  the 
careless  and  uncertain  manner  in  which  I  had  hitherto  con- 
trolled our  meagre  resources,  and  in  now  undertaking  the  re- 
sponsibility, she  explained  that  she  understood  how  to  keep 
house  more  cheaply  than  we  could  do  by  living  in  furnished 
rooms  and  restaurants.  Success  justified  the  step;  the  serious 
part  of  the  question  lay  in  the  fact  that  we  had  to  start  house- 
keeping without  any  furniture  of  our  own,  and  everything 
necessary  for  domestic  purposes  had  to  be  procured,  though  we 
had  not  the  v^herewithal  to  get  it.  In  this  matter  Lehrs,  who 


222  MY   LIFE 

was  well  versed  in  the  peculiarities  of  Parisian  life,  was  able  to 
advise  us.  In  his  opinion  the  only  compensation  for  the  ex- 
periences we  had  undergone  hitherto  would  be  a  success  equiva- 
lent to  my  daring.  As  I  did  not  possess  the  resources  to  allow 
of  long  years  of  patient  waiting  for  success  in  Paris,  I  must 
either  count  on  extraordinary  luck  or  renounce  all  my  hopes 
forthwith.  The  longed-for  success  must  come  within  a  year,  or 
I  should  be  ruined.  Therefore  I  must  dare  all,  as  befitted  my 
name,  for  in  my  case  he  was  not  inclined  to  derive  '  Wagner  '  l 
from  Fuhrwerk.  I  was  to  pay  my  rent,  twelve  hundred  francs, 
in  quarterly  instalments;  for  the  furniture  and  fittings,  he 
recommended  me,  through  his  landlady,  to  a  carpenter  who 
provided  everything  that  was  necessary  for  what  seemed  to  be 
a  reasonable  sum,  also  to  be  paid  by  instalments,  all  of  which 
appeared  very  simple.  Lehrs  maintained  that  I  should  do 
no  good  in  Paris  unless  I  showed  the  world  that  I  had  con- 
fidence in  myself.  My  trial  audience  was  impending;  I  felt 
sure  of  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance,  and  Dumersan  was  keenly 
anxious  to  make  a  complete  translation  of  my  Liebesverbot  into 
French.  So  we  decided  to  run  the  risk.  On  15th  April,  to 
the  astonishment  of  the  concierge  of  the  house  in  the  Rue 
du  Helder,  we  moved  with  an  exceedingly  small  amount  of 
luggage  into  our  comfortable  new  apartments. 

The  very  first  visit  I  received  in  the  rooms  I  had  taken  with 
such  high  hopes  was  from  Anders,  who  came  with  the  tidings 
that  the  Theatre  de  la  Renaissance  had  just  gone  bankrupt, 
and  was  closed.  This  news,  which  came  on  me  like  a  thunder- 
clap, seemed  to  portend  more  than  an  ordinary  stroke  of  bad 
luck;  it  revealed  to  me  like  a  flash  of  lightning  the  absolute 
emptiness  of  my  prospects.  My  friends  openly  expressed  the 
opinion  that  Meyerbeer,  in  sending  me  from  the  Grand  Opera 
to  this  theatre,  probably  knew  the  whole  of  the  circumstances. 
I  did  not  pursue  the  line  of  thought  to  which  this  supposition 
might  lead,  as  I  felt  cause  enough  for  bitterness  when  I  won- 
dered what  I  should  do  with  the  rooms  in  which  I  was  so 
nicely  installed. 

As  my  singers  had  now  practised  the  portions  of  Liebes- 

' Wagner'   in  German   means   one   who   dares,  also  a  Wagoner;    and 
Fuhrwerk1  means  a  carriage.  —  EDITOR. 


PERFORMANCE  BEFORE  M.  MONNAIE       223 

verbot  intended  for  the  trial  audience,  I  was  anxious  at  least 
to  have  them  performed  before  some  persons  of  influence. 
M.  Edouard  Monnaie,  who  had  been  appointed  temporary  di- 
rector of  the  Grand  Opera  after  Duponchel's  retirement,  was 
the  less  disposed  to  refuse  as  the  singers  who  were  to  take  part 
belonged  to  the  institution  over  which  he  presided;  moreover, 
there  was  no  obligation  attached  to  his  presence  at  the  audience. 
I  also  took  the  trouble  to  call  on  Scribe  to  invite  him  to  attend, 
and  he  accepted  with  the  kindest  alacrity.  At  last  my  three 
pieces  were  performed  before  these  two  gentlemen  in  the  green 
room  of  the  Grand  Opera,  and  I  played  the  piano  accompani- 
ment. They  pronounced  the  music  charming,  and  Scribe  ex- 
pressed his  willingness  to  arrange  the  libretto  for  me  as  soon 
as  the  managers  of  the  opera  had  decided  on  accepting  the 
piece ;  all  that  M.  Monnaie  had  to  reply  to  this  offer  was  that 
it  was  impossible  for  them  to  do  so  at  present.  I  did  not  fail 
to  realise  that  these  were  only  polite  expressions;  but  at  all 
events  I  thought  it  very  nice  of  them,  and  particularly  con- 
descending of  Scribe  to  have  got  so  far  as  to  think  me  deserving 
of  a  little  politeness. 

But  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I  felt  really  ashamed  of  having 
gone  back  again  seriously  to  that  superficial  early  work  from 
which  I  had  taken  these  three  pieces.  Of  course  I  had  only 
done  this  because  I  thought  I  should  win  success  more  rapidly 
in  Paris  by  adapting  myself  to  its  frivolous  taste.  My  aversion 
from  this  kind  of  taste,  which  had  been  long  growing,  coincided 
with  my  abandonment  of  all  hopes  of  success  in  Paris.  I  was 
placed  in  an  exceedingly  melancholy  situation  by  the  fact 
that  my  circumstances  had  so  shaped  themselves  that  I  dared 
not  express  this  important  change  in  my  feelings  to  any  one, 
especially  to  my  poor  wife.  But  if  I  continued  to  make  the  best 
of  a  bad  bargain,  I  had  no  longer  any  illusions  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  success  in  Paris.  Face  to  face  with  unheard-of  misery, 
I  shuddered  at  the  smiling  aspect  which  Paris  presented  in  the 
bright  sunshine  of  May.  It  was  the  beginning  of  the  slack 
season  for  any  sort  of  artistic  enterprise  in  Paris,  and  from 
every  door  at  which  I  knocked  with  feigned  hope  I  was  turned 
away  with  the  wretchedly  monotonous  phrase,  Monsieur  est  a 
la  campagne. 


224  MY  LIFE 

On  our  long  walks,  when  we  felt  ourselves  absolute  strangers 
in  the  midst  of  the  gay  throng,  I  used  to  romance  to  my  wife 
about  the  South  American  Free  States,  far  away  from  all  this 
sinister  life,  where  opera  and  music  were  unknown,  and  the 
foundations  of  a  sensible  livelihood  could  easily  be  secured  by 
industry.  I  told  Minna,  who  was  quite  in  the  dark  as  to  my 
meaning,  of  a  book  I  had  just  read,  Zschokke's  Die  Griindung 
von  Maryland,  in  which  I  found  a  very  seductive  account  of  the 
sensation  of  relief  experienced  by  the  European  settlers  after 
their  former  sufferings  and  persecutions.  She,  being  of  a  more 
practical  turn  of  mind,  used  to  point  out  to  me  the  necessity  of 
procuring  means  for  our  continued  existence  in  Paris,  for  which 
she  had  thought  out  all  sorts  of  economies. 

I,  for  my  part,  was  sketching  out  the  plan  of  the  poem  of 
my  Fliegender  Hollander,  which  I  kept  steadily  before  me  as 
a  possible  means  of  making  a  debut  in  Paris.  I  put  together  the 
material  for  a  single  act,  influenced  by  the  consideration  that 
I  could  in  this  way  confine  it  to  the  simple  dramatic  develop- 
ments between  the  principal  characters,  without  troubling  about 
the  tiresome  operatic  accessories.  From  a  practical  point  of 
view,  I  thought  I  could  rely  on  a  better  prospect  for  the  ac- 
ceptance of  my  proposed  work  if  it  were  cast  in  the  form  of  a 
one-act  opera,  such  as  was  frequently  given  as  a  curtain  raiser 
before  a  ballet  at  the  Grand  Opera.  I  wrote  about  it  to  Meyer- 
beer in  Berlin,  asking  for  his  help.  I  also  resumed  the 
composition  of  Rienzi,  to  the  completion  of  which  I  was  now 
giving  my  constant  attention. 

In  the  meantime  our  position  became  more  and  more  gloomy ; 
I  was  soon  compelled  to  draw  in  advance  on  the  subsidies 
obtained  by  Laube,  but  in  so  doing  I  gradually  alienated  the 
sympathy  of  my  brother-in-law  Avenarius,  to  whom  our  stay 
in  Paris  was  incomprehensible. 

One  morning,  when  we  had  been  anxiously  consulting  as  to 
the  possibility  of  raising  our  first  quarter's  rent,  a  carrier  ap- 
peared with  a  parcel  addressed  to  me  from  London ;  I  thought 
it  was  an  intervention  of  Providence,  and  broke  open  the  seal. 
At  the  same  moment  a  receipt-book  was  thrust  into  my  face 
for  signature,  in  which  I  at  once  saw  that  I  had  to  pay  seven 
franca  for  carriage.  I  recognised,  moreover,  that  the  parcel 


FRL.  LEPLAY  SHARES  OUR  HOME   225 

contained  my  overture  Rule  Britannia,  returned  to  me  from 
the  London  Philharmonic  Society.  In  my  fury  I  told  the 
bearer  that  I  would  not  take  in  the  parcel,  whereupon  he 
remonstrated  in  the  liveliest  fashion,  as  I  had  already  opened  it. 
It  was  no  use;  I  did  not  possess  seven  francs,  and  I  told  him 
he  should  have  presented  the  bill  for  the  carriage  before  I  had 
opened  the  parcel.  So  I  made  him  return  the  only  copy  of 
my  overture  to  Messrs.  Laffitte  and  Gaillard's  firm,  to  do  what 
they  liked  with  it,  and  I  never  cared  to  inquire  what  became 
of  that  manuscript. 

Suddenly  Kietz  devised  a  way  out  of  these  troubles.  He 
had  been  commissioned  by  an  old  lady  of  Leipzig,  called  Frau- 
lein  Leplay,  a  rich  and  very  miserly  old  maid,  to  find  a  cheap 
lodging  in  Paris  for  her  and  for  his  stepmother,  with  whom  she 
intended  to  travel.  As  our  apartment,  though  not  spacious, 
was  larger  than  we  actually  needed,  and  had  very  quickly 
become  a  troublesome  burden  to  us,  we  did  not  hesitate  for  a 
moment  to  let  the  larger  portion  of  it  to  her  for  the  time  of  her 
stay  in  Paris,  which  was  to  last  about  two  months.  In  addition, 
my  wife  provided  the  guests  with  breakfast,  as  though  they 
were  in  furnished  apartments,  and  took  a  great  pride  in  looking 
at  the  few  pence  she  earned  in  this  way.  Although  we  found ' 
this  amazing  example  of  old-maidishness  trying  enough,  the 
arrangement  we  had  made  helped  us  in  some  degree  to  tide 
over  the  anxious  time,  and  I  was  able,  in  spite  of  this  dis-/ 
organisation  of  our  household  arrangements,  to  continue  work- 
ing in  comparative  peace  at  my  Rienzi. 

This  became  more  difficult  after  Fraulein  Leplay's  departure, 
when  we  let  one  of  our  rooms  to  a  German  commercial  traveller, 
who  in  his  leisure  hours  zealously  played  the  flute.  His  name 
was  Brix ;  he  was  a  modest,  decent  fellow,  and  had  been  recom- 
mended to  us  by  Pecht  the  painter,  whose  acquaintance  we 
had  recently  made.  He  had  been  introduced  to  us  by  Kietz, 
who  studied  with  him  in  Delaroche's  studio.  He  was  the  very 
antithesis  of  Kietz  in  every  way,  and  obviously  endowed  with 
less  talent,  yet  he  grappled  with  the  task  of  acquiring  the  art 
of  oil-painting  in  the  shortest  possible  time  under  difficult 
circumstances  with  an  industry  and  earnestness  quite  out  of 
the  common.  He  was,  moreover,  well  educated,  and  eagerly 


226  MY   LIFE 

assimilated  information,  and  was  very  straightforward,  earnest, 
and  trustworthy.  Without  attaining  to  the  same  degree  of 
intimacy  with  us  as  our  three  older  friends,  he  was,  neverthe- 
less, one  of  the  few  who  continued  to  stand  by  us  in  our 
troubles,  and  habitually  spent  nearly  every  evening  in  our 
company. 

One  day  I  received  a  fresh  surprising  proof  of  Laube's 
continued  solicitude  on  our  behalf.  The  secretary  of  a  certain 
Count  Kuscelew  called  on  us,  and  after  some  inquiry  into  our 
affairs,  the  state  of  which  he  had  heard  from  Laube  at  Karlsbad, 
informed  us  in  a  brief  and  friendly  way  that  his  patron  wished 
to  be  of  use  to  us,  and  with  that  object  in  view  desired  to  make 
my  acquaintance.  In  fact,  he  proposed  to  engage  a  small 
light  opera  company  in  Paris,  which  was  to  follow  him  to  his 
Russian  estates.  He  was  therefore  looking  for  a  musical  director 
of  sufficient  experience  to  assist  in  recruiting  the  members 
in  Paris.  I  gladly  went  to  the  hotel  where  the  count  was 
staying,  and  there  found  an  elderly  gentleman  of  frank  and 
agreeable  bearing,  who  willingly  listened  to  my  little  French 
compositions.  Being  a  shewd  reader  of  human  nature,  he 
saw  at  a  glance  that  I  was  not  the  man  for  him,  and  though 
he  showed  me  the  most  polite  attention,  he  went  no  further 
into  the  opera  scheme.  But  that  very  day  he  sent  me,  accom- 
panied by  a  friendly  note,  ten  golden  napoleons,  in  payment 
for  my  services.  What  these  services  were  I  did  not  know. 
I  thereupon  wrote  to  him,  and  asked  for  more  precise  details 
of  his  wishes,  and  begged  him  to  commission  a  composition,  the 
fee  for  which  I  presumed  he  had  sent  in  advance.  As  I  received 
no  reply,  I  made  more  than  one  effort  to  approach  him  again, 
but  in  vain.  From  other  sources  I  afterwards  learned  that  the 
only  kind  of  opera  Count  Kuscelew  recognised  was  Adam's. 
As  for  the  operatic  company  to  be  engaged  to  suit  his  taste, 
what  he  really  wanted  was  more  a  small  harem  than  a  company 
of  artists. 

So  far  I  had  not  been  able  to  arrange  anything  with  the 
music  publisher  Schlesinger.  It  was  impossible  to  persuade 
him  to  publish  my  little  French  songs.  In  order  to  do  some- 
thing, however,  towards  making  myself  known  in  this  direction, 
I  decided  to  have  my  Two  Grenadiers  engraved  by  him  at  my 


THE    'TWO    GRENADIERS'  227 

own  expense.  Kietz  was  to  lithograph  a  magnificent  title- 
page  for  it.  Schlesinger  ended  by  charging  me  fifty  francs  for 
the  cost  of  production.  The  story  of  this  publication  is  curious 
from  beginning  to  end;  the  work  bore  Schlesinger's  name,  and 
as  I  had  defrayed  all  expenses,  the  proceeds  were,  of  course,  to 
be  placed  to  my  account.  I  had  afterwards  to  take  the  pub- 
lisher's word  for  it  that  not  a  single  copy  had  been  sold.  Subse- 
quently, when  I  had  made  a  quick  reputation  for  myself  in 
Dresden  through  my  Rienzi,  Schott  the  publisher  in  Mainz, 
who  dealt  almost  exclusively  in  works  translated  from  the 
French,  thought  it  advisable  to  bring  out  a  German  edition 
of  the  Two  Grenadiers.  Below  the  text  of  the  French  trans- 
lation he  had  the  German  original  by  Heine  printed;  but  as 
the  French  poem  was  a  very  free  paraphrase,  in  quite  a  different 
metre  to  the  original,  Heine's  words  fitted  my  composition  so 
badly  that  I  was  furious  at  the  insult  to  my  work,  and  thought 
it  necessary  to  protest  against  Schott's  publication  as  an 
entirely  unauthorised  reprint.  Schott  then  threatened  me 
with  an  action  for  libel,  as  he  said  that,  according  to  his  agree- 
ment, his  edition  was  not  a  reprint  (Nachdruck),  but  a  reim- 
pression  (Abdruck).  In  order  to  be  spared  further  annoyance, 
I  was  induced  to  send  him  an  apology  in  deference  to  the  dis- 
tinction he  had  drawn,  which  I  did  not  understand. 

In  1848,  when  I  made  inquiries  of  Schlesinger's  successor  in 
Paris  (M.  Brandus)  as  to  the  fate  of  my  little  work,  I  learned 
from  him  that  a  new  edition  had  been  published,  but  he  de- 
clined to  entertain  any  question  of  rights  on  my  part.  Since  I 
did  not  care  to  buy  a  copy  with  my  own  money,  I  have  to  this 
day  had  to  do  without  my  own  property.  To  what  extent, 
in  later  years,  others  profited  by  similar  transactions  relating 
to  the  publication  of  my  works,  will  appear  in  due  course. 

For  the  moment  the  point  was  to  compensate  Schlesinger  for 
the  fifty  francs  agreed  upon,  and  he  proposed  that  I  should  do 
this  by  writing  articles  for  his  Gazette  Musicals. 

As  I  was  not  expert  enough  in  the  French  language  for 
literary  purposes,  my  article  had  to  be  translated  and  half 
the  fee  had  to  go  to  the  translator.  However,  I  consoled 
myself  by  thinking  I  should  still  receive  sixty  francs  per  sheet 
for  the  work.  I  was  soon  to  learn,  when  I  presented  myself 


LIFE 

to  the  angry  publisher  for  payment,  what  was  meant  by  a 
sheet.  It  was  measured  by  an  abominable  iron  instrument, 
on  which  the  lines  of  the  columns  were  marked  off  with  figures ; 
this  was  applied  to  the  article,  and  after  careful  subtraction 
of  the  spaces  left  for  the  title  and  signature,  the  lines  were  added 
up.  After  this  process  had  been  gone  through,  it  appeared 
that  what  I  had  taken  for  a  sheet  was  only  half  a  sheet. 

So  far  so  good.  I  began  to  write  articles  for  Schlesinger's 
wonderful  paper.  The  first  was  a  long  essay,  De  la  musique 
allemande,  in  which  I  expressed  with  the  enthusiastic  exaggera- 
*  tion  characteristic  of  me  at  that  time  my  appreciation  of  the 
sincerity  and  earnestness  of  German  music.  This  article  led 
my  friend  Anders  to  remark  that  the  state  of  affairs  in  Germany 
must,  indeed,  be  splendid  if  the  conditions  were  really  as  I 
described.  I  enjoyed  what  was  to  me  the  surprising  satis- 
faction of  seeing  this  article  subsequently  reproduced  in  Italian, 
in  a  Milan  musical  journal,  where,  to  my  amusement,  I  saw 
myself  described  as  Dottissimo  Musico  Tedesco,  a  mistake 
which  nowadays  would  be  impossible.  My  essay  attracted 
favourable  comment,  and  Schlesinger  asked  me  to  write  an 
article  in  praise  of  the  arrangement  made  by  the  Russian 
General  Lwoff  of  Pergolesi's  Stabat  Mater,,  which  I  did  as 
superficially  as  possible.  On  my  own  impulse  I  then  wrote 
an  essay  in  a  still  more  amiable  vein  called  Du  metier  du 
virtuose  et  de  I'independance  de  la  composition. 

In  the  meantime  I  was  surprised  in  the  middle  of  the  summer 
by  the  arrival  of  Meyerbeer,  who  happened  to  come  to  Paris 
for  a  fortnight.  He  was  very  sympathetic  and  obliging.  When 
I  told  him  my  idea  of  writing  a  one-act  opera  as  a  curtain 
raiser,  and  asked  him  to  give  me  an  introduction  to  M.  Leon 
Fillet,  the  recently  appointed  manager  of  the  Grand  Opera, 
he  at  once  took  me  to  see  him,  and  presented  me  to  him.  But 
alas,  I  had  the  unpleasant  surprise  of  learning  from  the  serious 
conversation  which  took  place  between  those  two  gentlemen 
as  to  my  future,  that  Meyerbeer  thought  I  had  better  decide 
to  compose  an  act  for  the  ballet  in  collaboration  with  another 
musician.  Of  course  I  could  not  entertain  such  an  idea  for  a 
moment.  I  succeeded,  however,  in  handing  over  to  M.  Fillet 
my  brief  sketch  of  the  subject  of  the  Flying  Dutchman. 


'CORNET    A   PISTONS'  229 

Things  had  reached  this  point  when  Meyerbeer  again  left 
Paris,  this  time  for  a  longer  period  of  absence. 

As  I  did  not  hear  from  M.  Pillet  for  quite  a  long  time,  I  now 
began  to  work  diligently  at  my  composition  of  Rienzi,  though, 
to  my  great  distress,  I  had  often  to  interrupt  this  task  in  order 
to  undertake  certain  pot-boiling  hack-work  for  Schlesinger. 

As  my  contributions  to  the  Gazette  Musicale  proved  so 
unremunerative,  Schlesinger  one  day  ordered  me  to  work  out 
a  method  for  the  Cornet  a  pistons.  When  I  told  him  about  my 
embarrassment,  in  not  knowing  how  to  deal  with  the  subject, 
he  replied  by  sending  me  five  different  published  '  Methods  ' 
for  the  Cornet  a  pistons,  at  that  time  the  favourite  amateur 
instrument  among  the  younger  male  population  of  Paris.  I 
had  merely  to  devise  a  new  sixth  method  out  of  these  five,  as 
all  Schlesinger  wanted  was  to  publish  an  edition  of  his  own. 
I  was  racking  my  brains  how  to  start,  when  Schlesinger,  who 
had  just  obtained  a  new  complete  method,  released  me  from 
the  onerous  task.  I  was,  however,  told  to  write  fourteen 
'  Suites '  for  the  Cornet  a  pistons  —  that  is  to  say,  airs  out  of 
operas  arranged  for  this  instrument.  To  furnish  me  with 
material  for  this  work,  Schlesinger  sent  me  no  less  than  sixty 
complete  operas  arranged  for  the  piano.  I  looked  them 
through  for  suitable  airs  for  my  (  Suites/  marked  the  pages  in 
the  volumes  with  paper  strips,  and  arranged  them  into  a  curious- 
looking  structure  round  my  work-table,  so  that  I  might  have 
the  greatest  possible  variety  of  the  melodious  material  within 
my  reach.  When  I  was  in  the  midst  of  this  work,  however, 
to  my  great  relief  and  to  my  poor  wife's  consternation, 
Schlesinger  told  me  that  M.  Schlitz,  the  first  cornet  player  in 
Paris,  who  had  looked  my  '  Etudes '  through,  preparatory  to 
their  being  engraved,  had  declared  that  I  knew  absolutely 
nothing  about  the  instrument,  and  had  generally  adopted  keys 
that  were  too  high,  which  Parisians  would  never  be  able  to  use. 
The  part  of  the  work  I  had  already  done  was,  however,  accepted, 
Schlitz  having  agreed  to  correct  it,  but  on  condition  that  I 
should  share  my  fee  with  him.  The  remainder  of  the  work 
was  then  taken  off  my  hands,  and  the  sixty  pianoforte  arrange- 
ments went  back  to  the  curious  shop  in  the  Rue  Richelieu. 

So  my  exchequer  was  again  in  a  sorry  plight.     The  distress- 


230  MY   LIFE 

ing  poverty  of  my  home  grew  more  apparent  every  day,  and 
yet  I  was  now  free  to  give  a  last  touch  to  Rienzi,  and  by  the 
19th  of  November  I  had  completed  this  most  voluminous  of  all 
my  operas.  I  had  decided,  some  time  previously,  to  offer  the 
first  production  of  this  work  to  the  Court  Theatre  at  Dresden, 
so  that,  in  the  event  of  its  being  a  success,  I  might  thus  resume 
my  connection  with  Germany.  I  had  decided  upon  Dresden 
as  I  knew  that  there  I  should  have  in  Tichatschek  the  most 
suitable  tenor  for  the  leading  part.  I  also  reckoned  on  my 
acquaintance  with  Schroder-Devrient,  who  had  always  been 
nice  to  me  and  who,  though  her  efforts  were  ineffectual,  had 
been  at  great  pains,  out  of  regard  for  my  family,  to  get  my 
Feen  introduced  at  the  Court  Theatre,  Dresden.  In  the 
secretary  of  the  theatre,  Hofrat  Winkler  (known  as  Theodor 
Hell),  I  also  had  an  old  friend  of  my  family,  besides  which  I 
had  been  introduced  to  the  conductor,  Reissiger,  with  whom 
I  and  my  friend  Apel  had  spent  a  pleasant  evening  on  the 
occasion  of  our  excursion  to  Bohemia  in  earlier  days.  To  all 
these  people  I  now  addressed  most  respectful  and  eloquent 
appeals,  wrote  out  an  official  note  to  the  director,  Herr  von 
Liittichau,  as  well  as  a  formal  petition  to  the  King  of  Saxony, 
and  had  everything  ready  to  send  off. 

Meantime,  I  had  not  omitted  to  indicate  the  exact  tempi 
in  my  opera  by  means  of  a  metronome.  As  I  did  not  possess 
such  a  thing,  I  had  to  borrow  one,  and  one  morning  I  went 
out  to  restore  the  instrument  to  its  owner,  carrying  it  under 
my  thin  overcoat.  The  day  when  this  occurred  was  one  of 
the  strangest  in  my  life,  as  it  showed  in  a  really  horrible  way 
the  whole  misery  of  my  position  at  that  time.  In  addition 
to  the  fact  that  I  did  not  know  where  to  look  for  the  few  francs 
wherewith  Minna  was  to  provide  for  our  scanty  household 
requirements,  some  of  the  bills  which,  in  accordance  with  the 
custom  in  Paris  in  those  days,  I  had  signed  for  the  purpose  of 
fitting  up  our  apartments,  had  fallen  due.  Hoping  to  get  help 
from  one  source  or  another,  I  first  tried  to  get  those  bills  pro- 
longed by  the  holders.  As  such  documents  pass  through  many 
hands,  I  had  to  call  on  all  the  holders  across  the  length  and 
breadth  of  the  city.  That  day  I  was  to  propitiate  a  cheese- 
monger who  occupied  a  fifth-floor  apartment  in  the  Cite.  I 


SUDDEN  REAPPEARANCE  OF  ROBBER   231 

also  intended  to  ask  for  help  from  Heinrich,  the  brother  of  my 
brother-in-law,  Brockhaus,  as  he  was  then  in  Paris;  and  I 
was  going  to  call  at  Schlesinger's  to  raise  the  money  to  pay  for 
the  despatch  of  my  score  that  day  by  the  usual  mail  service. 

As  I  had  also  to  deliver  the  metronome,  I  left  Minna  early 
in  the  morning  after  a  sad  good-bye.  She  knew  from  experi- 
ence that  as  I  was  on  a  money-raising  expedition,  she  would 
not  see  me  back  till  late  at  night.  The  streets  were  enveloped 
in  a  dense  fog,  and  the  first  thing  I  recognised  on  leaving 
the  house  was  my  dog  Robber,  who  had  been  stolen  from 
us  a  year  before.  At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  ghost,  but 
I  called  out  to  him  sharply  in  a  shrill  voice.  The  animal 
seemed  to  recognise  me,  and  approached  me  cautiously, 
but  my  sudden  movement  towards  him  with  outstretched 
arms  seemed  only  to  revive  memories  of  the  few  chastise- 
ments I  had  foolishly  inflicted  on  him  during  the  latter 
part  of  our  association,  and  this  memory  prevailed  over  all 
others.  He  drew  timidly  away  from  me  and,  as  I  followed 
him  with  some  eagerness,  he  ran,  only  to  accelerate  his 
speed  when  he  found  he  was  being  pursued.  I  became  more 
and  more  convinced  that  he  had  recognised  me,  because  he 
always  looked  back  anxiously  when  he  reached  a  corner;  but 
seeing  that  I  was  hunting  him  like  a  maniac,  he  started  off 
again  each  time  with  renewed  energy.  Thus  I  followed  him 
through  a  labyrinth  of  streets,  hardly  distinguishable  in  the 
thick  mist,  until  I  eventually  lost  sight  of  him  altogether,  never 
to  see  him  again.  It  was  near  the  church  of  St.  Roch,  and  I, 
wet  with  perspiration  and  quite  breathless,  was  still  bearing 
the  metronome.  For  a  while  I  stood  motionless,  glaring  into 
the  mist,  and  wondered  what  the  ghostly  reappearance  of  the 
companion  of  my  travelling  adventures  on  this  day  might 
portend!  The  fact  that  he  had  fled  from  his  old  master  with 
the  terror  of  a  wild  beast  filled  my  heart  with  a  strange  bitter- 
ness and  seemed  to  me  a  horrible  omen.  Sadly  shaken,  I  set 
out  again,  with  trembling  limbs,  upon  my  weary  errand. 

Heinrich  Brockhaus  told  me  he  could  not  help  me,  and  I 
left  him.  I  was  sorely  ashamed,  but  made  a  strong  effort  to 
conceal  the  painfulness  of  my  situation.  My  other  under- 
takings turned  out  equally  hopeless,  and  after  having  been 


232  MY   LIFE 

kept  waiting  for  hours  at  Schlesinger's,  listening  to  my  em- 
ployer's very  trivial  conversations  with  his  callers  —  conver- 
sations which  he  seemed  purposely  to  protract  —  I  reappeared 
under  the  windows  of  my  home  long  after  dark,  utterly  un- 
successful. I  saw  Minna  looking  anxiously  from  one  of  the 
windows.  Half  expecting  my  misfortune  she  had,  in  the 
meantime,  succeeded  in  borrowing  a  small  sum  of  our  lodger 
and  boarder,  Brix,  the  flute-player,  whom  we  tolerated 
patiently,  though  at  some  inconvenience  to  ourselves,  as  he 
was  a  good-natured  fellow.  So  she  was  able  to  offer  me  at 
least  a  comfortable  meal.  Further  help  was  to  come  to  me 
subsequently,  though  at  the  cost  of  great  sacrifices  on  my 
part,  owing  to  the  success  of  one  of  Donizetti's  operas,  La 
Favorita,  a  very  poor  work  of  the  Italian  maestro's,  but 
welcomed  with  great  enthusiasm  by  the  Parisian  public, 
already  so  much  degenerated.  This  opera,  the  success  of  which 
was  due  mainly  to  two  lively  little  songs,  had  been  acquired 
by  Schlesinger,  who  had  lost  heavily  over  Halevy's  last  operas. 

Taking  advantage  of  my  helpless  situation,  of  which  he  was 
well  aware,  he  rushed  into  our  rooms  one  morning,  beaming 
all  over  with  amusing  good-humour,  called  for  pen  and  ink, 
and  began  to  work  out  a  calculation  of  the  enormous  fees 
which  he  had  arranged  for  me !  He  put  down :  '  La  Favorita, 
complete  arrangement  for  pianoforte,  arrangement  without 
words,  for  solo;  ditto,  for  duet;  complete  arrangement  for 
quartette;  the  same  for  two  violins;  ditto  for  a  Cornet 
a  piston.  Total  fee,  frcs.  1100.  Immediate  advance  in  cash, 
frcs.  500.'  I  could  see  at  a  glance  what  an  enormous  amount 
of  trouble  this  work  would  involve,  but  I  did  not  hesitate  a 
moment  to  undertake  it. 

Curiously  enough,  when  I  brought  home  these  five  hundred 
francs  in  hard  shining  five-franc  pieces,  and  piled  them  up  on 
the  table  for  our  edification,  my  sister  Cecilia  Avenarius 
happened  to  drop  in  to  see  us.  The  sight  of  this  abundance  of 
wealth  seemed  to  produce  a  good  effect  on  her,  as  she  had 
hitherto  been  rather  chary  of  coming  to  see  us;  and  after 
that  we  used  to  see  rather  more  of  her,  and  were  often  invited 
to  dine  with  them  on  Sundays.  But  I  no  longer  cared  for  any 
amusements.  I  was  so  deeply  impressed  by  my  past  experi- 


STORY  FOB  THE   'GAZETTE  MUSICALE '      233 

ences  that  I  made  up  my  mind  to  work  through  this  humiliat- 
ing, albeit  profitable  task,  with  untiring  energy,  as  though  it 
were  a  penance  imposed  on  me  for  the  expiation  of  my  bygone 
sins.  To  save  fuel,  we  limited  ourselves  to  the  use  of  the  bed- 
room, making  it  serve  as  a  drawing-room,  dining-room,  and 
study,  as  well  as  dormitory.  It  was  only  a  step  from  my  bed 
to  my  work-table;  to  be  seated  at  the  dining-table,  all  I  had 
to  do  was  to  turn  my  chair  round,  and  I  left  my  seat  altogether 
only  late  at  night  when  I  wanted  to  go  to  bed  again.  Every 
fourth  day  I  allowed  myself  a  short  constitutional.  This 
penitential  process  lasted  almost  all  through  the  winter,  and 
sowed  the  seeds  of  those  gastric  disorders  which  were  to  be 
more  or  less  of  a  trouble  to  me  for  the  rest  of  my  life. 

In  return  for  the  minute  and  almost  interminable  work  of 
correcting  the  score  of  Donizetti's  opera,  I  managed  to  get 
three  hundred  francs  from  Schlesinger,  as  he  could  not  get 
any  one  else  to  do  it.  Besides  this,  I  had  to  find  the  time  to 
copy  out  the  orchestra  parts  of  my  overture  to  Faust,  which  I 
was  still  hoping  to  hear  at  the  Conservatoire ;  and  by  the  way  of 
counteracting  the  depression  produced  by  this  humiliating 
occupation,  I  wrote  a  short  story,  Eine  Pilgerfahrt  zu  Beet-  ' 
hoven  (A  Pilgrimage  to  Beethoven),  which  appeared  in  the 
Gazette  Musicale,  under  the  title  Une  Visite  d  Beethoven. 
Schlesinger  told  me  candidly  that  this  little  work  had  created 
quite  a  sensation,  and  had  been  received  with  very  marked' 
approval ;  and,  indeed,  it  was  actually  reproduced,  either  { 
complete  or  in  parts,  in  a  good  many  fireside  journals. 

He  persuaded  me  to  write  some  more  of  the  same  kind ;  and 
in  a  sequel  entitled  Das  Ende  eines  Musikers  in  Paris  (Un 
Nusicien  etranger  d  Paris}  I  avenged  myself  for  all  the  mis- 
fortunes I  had  had  to  endure.  Schlesinger  was  not  quite  so 
pleased  with  this  as  with  my  first  effort,  but  it  received  touching 
signs  of  approval  from  his  poor  assistant;  while  Heinrich 
Heine  praised  it  by  saying  that  '  Hoffmann  would  have  been 
incapable  of  writing  such  a  thing.'  Even  Berlioz  was  touched 
by  it,  and  spoke  of  the  story  very  favourably  in  one  of  his 
articles  in  the  Journal  des  Debats.  He  also  gave  me  signs  of 
his  sympathy,  though  only  during  a  conversation,  after  the 
appearance  of  another  of  my  musical  articles  entitled  Ueber 


234  MY   LIFE 

die  Ouvertiire  (Concerning  Overtures),  mainly  because  I  had 
illustrated  my  principle  by  pointing  to  Gluck's  overture  to 
Iphigenia  in  Aidis  as  a  model  for  compositions  of  this  class. 
(  Encouraged  by  these  signs  of  sympathy,  I  felt  anxious  to 
become  more  intimately  acquainted  with  Berlioz.  I  had  been 
introduced  to  him  some  time  previously  at  Schlesinger's  office, 
i  where  we  used  to  meet  occasionally.  I  had  presented  him 
with  a  copy  of  my  Two  Grenadiers,  but  could,  however,  never 
learn  any  more  from  him  concerning  what  he  really  thought  of 
it  than  the  fact  that  as  he  could  only  strum  a  little  on  the 
guitar,  he  was  unable  to  play  the  music  of  my  composition  to 
himself  on  the  piano.  During  the  previous  winter  I  had  often 
heard  his  grand  instrumental  pieces  played  under  his  own 
direction,  and  had  been  most  favourably  impressed  by  them. 
During  that  winter  (1839-40)  he  conducted  three  performances 
of  his  new  symphony,  Romeo  and  Juliet,  at  one  of  which  I  was 
present. 

All  this,  to  be  sure,  was  quite  a  new  world  to  me,  and  I  was 
desirous  of  gaining  some  unprejudiced  knowledge  of  it.  At 
first  the  grandeur  and  masterly  execution  of  the  orchestral  part 
almost  overwhelmed  me.  It  was  beyond  anything  I  could 
have  conceived.  The  fantastic  daring,  the  sharp  precision 
with  which  the  boldest  combinations  —  almost  tangible  in  their 
clearness  —  impressed  me,  drove  back  my  own  ideas  of  the 
poetry  of  music  with  brutal  violence  into  the  very  depths  of 
my  soul.  I  was  simply  all  ears  for  things  of  which  till  then 
I  had  never  dreamt,  and  which  I  felt  I  must  try  to  realise. 
True,  I  found  a  great  deal  tKat  was  empty  and  shallow  in  his 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  a  work  that  lost  much  by  its  length  and 
form  of  combination;  and  this  was  the  more  painful  to  me 
seeing  that,  on  the  other  hand,  I  felt  overpowered  by  many 
really  bewitching  passages  which  quite  overcame  any  objections 
on  my  part. 

During  the  same  winter  Berlioz  produced  his  Sinfonie 
Fantastique  and  his  Harold  ('Harold  en  Italic').  I  was 
also  much  impressed  by  these  works;  the  musical  genre- 
pictures  woven  into  the  first-named  symphony  were  particu- 
larly pleasing,  while  Harald  delighted  me  in  almost  every 
( respect. 


BERLIOZ  235 

It  was,  however,  the  latest  work  of  this  wonderful  master, 
his  Trauer-Symphonie  fur  die  Opfer  der  JulirRevolution 
(Grande  Symphonic  Funebre  et  Triomphale),  most  skilfully 
composed  for  massed  military  bands  during  the  summer  of 
1840  for  the  anniversary  of  the  obsequies  of  the  July  heroes, 
and  conducted  by  him  under  the  column  of  the  Place  de  lai 
Bastille,  which  had  at  last  thoroughly  convinced  me  of  the 
greatness  and  enterprise  of  this  incomparable  artist.  But 
while  admiring  this  genius,  absolutely  unique  in  his  methods, 
I  could  never  quite  shake  off  a  certain  peculiar  feeling  of 
anxiety.  His  works  left  me  with  a  sensation  as  of  something  ' 
strange,  something  with  which  I  felt  I  should  never  be  able 
to  be  familiar,  and  I  was  often  puzzled  at  the  strange  fact  that, 
though  ravished  by  his  compositions,  I  was  at  the  same  time' 
repelled  and  even  wearied  by  them.  It  was  only  much  later  t 
that  I  succeeded  in  clearly  grasping  and  solving  this  problem, 
which  for  years  exercised  such  a  painful  spell  over  me. 

It  is  a  fact  that  at  that  time  I  felt  almost  like  a  little  school- 
boy by  the  side  of  Berlioz.  Consequently  I  was  really  embar- 
rassed when  Schlesinger,  determined  to  make  good  use  of  the 
success  of  my  short  story,  told  me  he  was  anxious  to  produce 
some  of  my  orchestral  compositions  at  a  concert  arranged  by 
the  editor  of  the  Gazette  Musicale.  I  realised  that  none  of  my 
available  works  would  in  any  way  be  suitable  for  such  an 
occasion.  I  was  not  quite  confident  as  to  my  Faust  Overture 
because  of  its  zephyr-like  ending,  which  I  presumed  could  only 
be  appreciated  by  an  audience  already  familiar  with  my 
methods.  When,  moreover,  I  learned  that  I  should  have  only 
a  second-rate  orchestra  —  the  Valentino  from  the  Casino,  Rue 
St.  Honore  —  and,  moreover,  that  there  could  be  only  one' 
rehearsal,  my  only  alternative  lay  between  declining  altogether, 
or  making  another  trial  with  my  Columbus  Overture,  the  work 
composed  in  my  early  days  at  Magdeburg.  I  adopted  the  latter) 
course. 

When  I  went  to  fetch  the  score  of  this  composition  from 
Habeneck,  who  had  it  stored  among  the  archives  of  the  Con- 
servatoire, he  warned  me  somewhat  dryly,  though  not  without 
kindness,  of  the  danger  of  presenting  this  work  to  the  Parisian 
public,  as,  to  use  his  own  words,  it  was  too  '  vague.'  One 


236  MY   LIFE 

great  objection  was  the  difficulty  of  finding  capable  musicians 
for  the  six  cornets  required,  as  the  music  for  this  instrument, 
so  skilfully  played  in  Germany,  could  hardly,  if  ever,  be  satis- 
factorily executed  in  Paris.  Herr  Schlitz,  the  corrector  of  my 
1  Suites '  for  Cornet  a  piston,  offered  his  assistance.  I  was 
compelled  to  reduce  my  six  cornets  to  four,  and  he  told  me  that 
only  two  of  these  could  be  relied  on. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  attempts  made  at  the  rehearsal  to 
produce  those  very  passages  on  which  the  effect  of  my  work 
chiefly  depended  were  very  discouraging.     Not  once  were  the 
soft  high  notes  played  but  they  were  flat  or  altogether  wrong. 
In  addition  to  this,  as  I  was  not  going  to  be  allowed  to  conduct 
the  work  myself,  I  had  to  rely  upon  a  conductor  who,  as  I  was 
well  aware,  had  fully  convinced  himself  that  my  composition 
was  the  most  utter  rubbish  —  an  opinion  that  seemed  to  be 
shared  by  the  whole  orchestra.     Berlioz,  who  was  present  all 
the  rehearsal,   remained   silent  throughout.  -   He  gave  me  no» 
encouragement,  though  he  did  not  dissuade  me.     He  merely  1 
said  afterwards,  with  a  weary  smile,  l  that  it  was  very  difficult! 
to  get  on  in  Paris.' 

On  the  night  of  the  performance  (4th  February  1841)  the 
audience,  which  was  largely  composed  of  subscribers  to  the 
Gazette  Musicale,  and  to  whom,  therefore,  my  literary  successes 
were  not  unknown,  seemed  rather  favourably  disposed  towards 
me.  I  was  told  later  on  that  my  overture,  however  wearisome 
it  had  been,  would  certainly  have  been  applauded  if  those 
unfortunate  cornet  players,  by  continually  failing  to  produce 
the  effective  passages,  had  not  excited  the  public  almost  to 
the  point  of  hostility;  for  Parisians,  for  the  most  part,  care 
only  for  the  skilful  parts  of  performances,  as,  for  instance,  for 
the  faultless  production  of  difficult  tones.  I  was  clearly  con-  ' 
scious  of  my  complete  failure.  After  this  misfortune  Paris 
no  longer  existed  for  me,  and  all  I  had  to  do  was  to  go  back 
to  my  miserable  bedroom  and  resume  my  work  of  arranging 
Donizetti's  operas. 

So  great  was  my  renunciation  of  the  world  that,  like  a 
penitent,  I  no  longer  shaved,  and  to  my  wife's  annoyance,  for 
the  first  and  only  time  in  my  life  allowed  my  beard  to  grow 
quite  long.  I  tried  to  bear  everything  patiently,  and  the  only 


LIFE   AT   RUE    DU   HELDER  237 

thing  that  threatened  really  to  drive  me  to  despair  was  a 
pianist  in  the  room  adjoining  ours  who  during  the  livelong  day 
practised  Liszt's  fantasy  on  Lucia  di  Lammermoor.  I  had 
to  put  a  stop  to  this  torture,  so,  to  give  him  an  idea  of  what  he 
made  us  endure,  one  day  I  moved  our  own  piano,  which  was 
terribly  out  of  tune,  close  up  to  the  party  wall.  Then  Brix 
with  his  piccolo-flute  played  the  piano-and-violin  (or  flute) 
arrangement  of  the  Favorita  Overture  I  had  just  completed, 
while  I  accompanied  him  on  the  piano.  The  effect  on  our 
neighbour,  a  young  piano-teacher,  must  have  been  appalling. 
The  concierge  told  me  the  next  day  that  the  poor  fellow  was 
leaving,  and,  after  all,  I  felt  rather  sorry. 

The  wife  of  our  concierge  had  entered  into  a  sort  of  arrange- 
ment with  us.  At  first  we  had  occasionally  availed  ourselves 
of  her  services,  especially  in  the  kitchen,  also  for  brushing 
clothes,  cleaning  boots,  and  so  on;  but  even  the  slight  outlay 
that  this  involved  was  eventually  too  heavy  for  us,  and  after 
having  dispensed  with  her  services,  Minna  had  to  suffer  the 
humiliation  of  doing  the  whole  work  of  the  household,  even  the 
most  menial  part  of  it,  herself.  As  we  did  not  like  to  mention 
this  to  Brix,  Minna  was  obliged,  not  only  to  do  all  the  cooking 
and  washing  up,  but  even  to  clean  our  lodger's  boots  as  well. 
What  we  felt  most,  however,  was  the  thought  of  what  the 
concierge  and  his  wife  would  think  of  us ;  but  we  were  mistaken, 
for  they  only  respected  us  the  more,  though  of  course  we  could 
not  avoid  a  little  familiarity  at  times.  Now  and  then,  there- 
fore, the  man  would  have  a  chat  with  me  on  politics.  When 
the  Quadruple  Alliance  against  France  had  been  concluded, 
and  the  situation  under  Thiers'  ministry  was  regarded  as  very 
critical,  my  concierge  tried  to  reassure  me  one  day  by  saying: 
1  Monsieur,  il  y  a  quatre  Tiommes  en  Europe  qui  s'appellent:  le  roi 
Louis  Philippe,  I'empereur  d'Autriche,  I'empereur  de  Russie, 
le  roi  de  Prusse;  eh  bien,  ces  quaire  sont  des  c  .  .  .;  et  nous 
n'aurons  pas  la  guerre/ 

Of  an  evening  I  very  seldom  lacked  entertainment;  but  the 
few  faithful  friends  who  came  to  see  me  had  to  put  up  with  my 
going  on  scribbling  music  till  late  in  the  night.  Once  they 
prepared  a  touching  surprise  for  me  in  the  form  of  a  little 
party  which  they  arranged  for  New  Year's  Eve  (1840).  Lehrs 


238  MY   LIFE 

arrived  at  dusk,  rang  the  bell,  and  brought  a  leg  of  veal ;  Kietz 
brought  some  rum,  sugar,  and  a  lemon ;  Pecht  supplied  a  goose ; 
and  Anders  two  bottles  of  the  champagne  with  which  he  had 
been  presented  by  a  musical  instrument-maker  in  return  for  a 
flattering  article  he  had  written  about  his  pianos.  Bottles 
from  that  stock  were  produced  only  on  very  great  occasions. 
I  soon  threw  the  confounded  Favorita  aside,  therefore,  and 
entered  enthusiastically  into  the  fun. 

We  all  had  to  assist  in  the  preparations,  to  light  the  fire  in 
the  salon,  give  a  hand  to  my  wife  in  the  kitchen,  and  get  what 
was  wanted  from  the  grocer.  The  supper  developed  into  a 
dithyrambic  orgy.  When  the  champagne  was  drunk,  and  the 
punch  began  to  produce  its  effects,  I  delivered  a  fiery  speech 
which  so  provoked  the  hilarity  of  the  company  that  it  seemed 
as  though  it  would  never  end.  I  became  so  excited  that  I  first 
mounted  a  chair,  and  then,  by  way  of  heightening  the  effect, 
at  last  stood  on  the  table,  thence  to  preach  the  maddest  gospel 
of  the  contempt  of  life  together  with  a  eulogy  on  the  South 
American  Free  States.  My  charmed  listeners  eventually  broke 
into  such  fits  of  sobs  and  laughter,  and  were  so  overcome,  that 
we  had  to  give  them  all  shelter  for  the  night  —  their  condition 
making  it  impossible  for  them  to  reach  their  own  homes  in 
safety.  On  New  Year's  Day  (1841)  I  was  again  busy  with  my 
Favorita. 

I  remember  another  similar  though  far  less  boisterous  feast, 
on  the  occasion  of  a  visit  paid  us  by  the  famous  violinist  Vieux- 
temps,  an  old  schoolfellow  of  Kietz's.  We  had  the  great 
pleasure  of  hearing  the  young  virtuoso,  who  was  then  greatly 
feted  in  Paris,  play  to  us  charmingly  for  a  whole  evening  —  a 
performance  which  lent  my  little  salon  an  unusual  touch  of 
'  fashion.'  Kietz  rewarded  him  for  his  kindness  by  carrying 
him  on  his  shoulders  to  his  hotel  close  by. 

We  were  hard  hit  in  the  early  part  of  this  year  by  a  mistake 
I  made  owing  to  my  ignorance  of  Paris  customs.  It  seemed 
to  us  quite  a  matter  of  course  that  we  should  wait  until  the 
proper  quarter-day  to  give  notice  to  our  landlady.  So  I  called 
on  the  proprietress  of  the  house,  a  rich  young  widow  living  in 
one  of  her  own  houses  in  the  Marias  quarter.  She  received  me, 
but  seemed  much  embarrassed,  and  said  she  would  speak  to 


DEPARTURE    FOR   MEUDON    (1841)          239 

her  agent  about  the  matter,  and  eventually  referred  me  to 
him.  The  next  day  I  was  informed  by  letter  that  my  notice 
would  have  been  valid  had  it  been  given  two  days  earlier. 
By  this  omission  I  had  rendered  myself  liable,  according  to  the 
agreement,  for  another  year's  rent.  Horrified  by  this  news, 
I  went  to  see  the  agent  himself,  and  after  having  been  kept 
waiting  for  a  long  time  —  as  a  matter  of  fact  they  would  not  let 
me  in  at  all  —  I  found  an  elderly  gentleman,  apparently  crippled 
by  some  very  painful  malady,  lying  motionless  before  me.  I 
frankly  told  him  my  position,  and  begged  him  most  earnestly 
to  release  me  from  my  agreement,  but  I  was  merely  told  that 
the  fault  was  mine,  and  not  his,  that  I  had  given  notice  a  day 
too  late,  and  consequently  that  I  must  find  the  rent  for  the 
next  year.  My  concierge,  to  whom,  with  some  emotion,  I 
related  the  story  of  this  occurrence,  tried  to  soothe  me  by 
saying:  '  J'aurais  pu  vous  dire  cela,  car  voyez,  monsieur,  cet 
homme  ne  vaut  pas  I'eau  qu'il  boit/ 

This  entirely  unforeseen  misfortune  destroyed  our  last  hopes 
of  getting  out  of  our  disastrous  position.  We  consoled  our- 
selves for  awhile  with  the  hope  of  finding  another  lodger,  but 
the  fates  were  once  more  against  us.  Easter  came,  the  new 
term  began,  and  our  prospects  were  as  hopeless  as  ever.  At 
last  our  concierge  recommended  us  to  a  family  who  were  willing 
to  take  the  whole  of  our  apartment,  furniture  included,  off  our 
hands  for  a  few  months.  We  gladly  accepted  this  offer;  for, 
at  any  rate,  it  ensured  the  payment  of  the  rent  for  the  ensuing 
quarter.  We  thought  if  only  we  could  get  away  from  this 
unfortunate  place  we  should  find  some  way  of  getting  rid  of 
it  altogether.  We  therefore  decided  to  find  a  cheap  summer 
residence  for  ourselves  in  the  outskirts  of  Paris. 

Meudon  had  been  mentioned  to  us  as  an  inexpensive  summer 
resort,  and  we  selected  an  apartment  in  the  avenue  which 
joins  Meudon  to  the  neighbouring  village  of  Bellevme.  We 
left  full  authority  with  our  concierge  as  to  our  rooms  in  Rue  du 
Helder,  and  settled  down  in  our  new  temporary  abode  as  well 
as  we  could.  Old  Brix,  the  good-natured  flutist,  had  to  stay 
with  us  again,  for,  owing  to  the  fact  that  his  usual  receipts 
had  been  delayed,  he  would  have  been  in  great  straits  had 
we  refused  to  give  him  shelter.  The  removal  of  our  scanty 


240  MY   LIFE 

possessions  took  place  on  the  29th  of  April,  and  was,  after  all, 
no  more  than  a  flight  from  the  impossible  into  the  unknown,  for 
how  we  were  going  to  live  during  the  following  summer  we  had 
not  the  faintest  idea.  Schlesinger  had  no  work  for  me,  and  no 
other  sources  were  available. 

The  only  help  we  could  hope  for  seemed  to  lie  in  journalistic 
work  which,  though  rather  unremunerative,  had  indeed  given 
me^the  opportunity  of  making  a  little  success.  During  the 
previous  winter  I  had  written  a  long  article  on  Weber's 
Freischiitz  for  the  Gazette  Musicale.  This  was  intended  to 
prepare  the  way  for  the  forthcoming  first  performance  of  this 
opera,  after  recitatives  from  the  pen  of  Berlioz  had  been  added 
to  it.  The  latter  was  apparently  far  from  pleased  at  my  article. 
In  the  article  I  could  not  help  referring  to  Berlioz's  absurd 
idea  of  polishing  up  this  old-fashioned  musical  work  by  adding 
ingredients  that  spoiled  its  original  characteristics,  merely  in 
order  to  give  it  an  appearance  suited  to  the  luxurious  repertoire 
of  Opera  House.  The  fact  that  the  result  fully  justified  my 
forecasts  did  not  in  the  least  tend  to  diminish  the  ill-feeling  I 
had  roused  among  all  those  concerned  in  the  production;  but 
I  had  the  satisfaction  of  hearing  that  the  famous  George  Sand 
had  noticed  my  article.  She  commenced  the  introduction  to 
a  legendary  story  of  French  provincial  life  by  repudiating 
certain  doubts  as  to  the  ability  of  the  French  people  to  under- 
stand the  mystic,  fabulous  element  which,  as  I  had  shown, 
was  displayed  in  such  a  masterly  manner  in  Freischiitz,  and 
she  pointed  to  my  article  as  clearly  explaining  the  characteristics 
of  that  opera. 

Another  journalistic  opportunity  arose  out  of  my  endeavours 
to  secure  the  acceptance  of  my  Rienzi  by  the  Court  Theatre 
at  Dresden.  Herr  Winkler,  the  secretary  of  that  theatre, 
whom  I  have  already  mentioned,  regularly  reported  progress; 
but  as  editor  of  the  Abendzeitung,  a  paper  then  rather  on  the 
wane,  he  seized  the  opportunity  presented  by  our  negotiations 
in  order  to  ask  me  to  send  him  frequent  and  gratuitous  con- 
tributions. The  consequence  was,  that  whenever  I  wanted 
to  know  anything  concerning  the  fate  of  my  opera,  I  had  to 
oblige  him  by  enclosing  an  article  for  his  paper.  Now,  as 
these  negotiations  with  the  Court  Theatre  lasted  a  very  long 


GROWING   DISLIKE    OF   PAKIS  241 

time,  and  involved  a  large  number  of  contributions  from  me, 
I  often  got  into  the  most  extraordinary  fixes  simply  owing  to 
the  fact  that  I  was  now  once  more  a  prisoner  in  my  room,  and 
had  been  so  for  some  time,  and  therefore  knew  nothing  of  what 
was  going  on  in  Paris. 

I  had  serious  reasons  for  thus  withdrawing  from  the  artistic 
and  social  life  of  Paris.  My  own  painful  experiences  and  my 
disgust  at  all  the  mockery  of  that  kind  of  life,  once  so  attractive : 
to  me  and  yet  so  alien  to  my  education,  had  quickly  driven  me  I 
away  from  everything  connected  with  it.  It  is  true  that  the  \ 
production  of  the  Huguenots,  for  instance,  which  I  then  heard 
for  the  first  time,  dazzled  me  very  much  indeed.  Its  beautiful 
orchestral  execution,  and  the  extremely  careful  and  effective 
mise  en  scene,  gave  me  a  grand  idea  of  the  great  possibilities 
of  such  perfect  and  definite  artistic  means.  But,  strange  to 
say,  I  never  felt  inclined  to  hear  the  same  opera  again.  I 
soon  became  tired  of  the  ^xtravagant  execution  of  the  vocalists, 
and  I  often  amused  my  friends  exceedingly  by  imitating  the 
latest  Parisian  methods  and  the  vulgar  exaggerations  with 
which  the  performances  teemed.  Those  composers,  moreover, 
who  aimed  at  achieving  success  by  adopting  the  style  which 
was  then  in  vogue,  could  not  help,  either,  incurring  my  sarcastic 
criticism.  The  last  shred  of  esteem  which  I  still  tried  to 
retain  for  the  '  first  lyrical  theatre  in  the  world '  was  at  last 
rudely  destroyed  when  I  saw  how  such  an  empty,  altogether 
un-French  work  as  Donizetti's  Favorita  could  secure  so  long 
and  important  a  run  at  this  theatre. 

During  the  whole  time  of  my  stay  in  Paris  I  do  not  think , 
I  went  to  the  opera  more  than  four  times.  The  cold  produc- 
tions at  the  Opera  Comique,  and  the  degenerate  quality  of  the 
music  produced  there,  had  repelled  me  from  the  start ;  and  the 
same  lack  of  enthusiasm  displayed  by  the  singers  also  drove 
me  from  Italian  opera.  The  names,  often  very  famous  ones, 
of  these  artists  who  sang  the  same  four  operas  for  years  could 
not  compensate  me  for  the  complete  absence  of  sentiment 
which  characterised  their  performance,  so  unlike  that  of 
Schroder-Devrient,  which  I  so  thoroughly  enjoyed.  I  clearly 
saw  that  everything  was  on  the  down  grade,  and  yet  I  cherished 
no  hope  or  desire  to  see  this  state  of  decline  superseded  by  a 


242  MY   LIFE 


period  of  newer  and  fresher  life.  I  preferred  the  small  theatres, 
where  French  talent  was  shown  in  its  true  light;  and  yet,  as 
the  result  of  my  own  longings,  I  was  too  intent  upon  finding 
points  of  relationship  in  them  which  would  excite  my  sym- 
pathy, for  it  to  be  possible  for  me  to  realise  those  peculiar 
excellences  in  them  which  did  not  happen  to  interest  me  at  all. 
Besides,  from  the  very  beginning  my  own  troubles  had  proved 
so  trying,  and  the  consciousness  of  the  failure  of  my  Paris 
schemes  had  become  so  cruelly  apparent,  that,  either  out  of 
indifference  or  annoyance,  I  declined  all  invitations  to  the 
theatres.  Again  and  again,  much  to  Minna's  regret,  I  returned 
tickets  for  performances  in  which  Rachel  was  to  appear  at  the 
Theatre  Frangais,  and,  in  fact,  saw  that  famous  theatre  only 
once,  when,  some  time  later,  I  had  to  go  there  on  business  for 
my  Dresden  patron,  who  wanted  some  more  articles. 

I  adopted  the  most  shameful  means  for  filling  the  columns 
of  the  Abendzeitung ;  I  just  strung  together  whatever  I 
happened  to  hear  in  the  evening  from  Anders  and  Lehrs.  But 
as  they  had  no  very  exciting  adventures  either,  they  simply 
told  me  all  they  had  picked  up  from  papers  and  table-talk,  and 
this  I  tried  to  render  with  as  much  piquancy  as  possible  in 
accordance  with  the  journalistic  style  created  by  Heine,  which 
was  all  the  rage  at  the  time.  My  one  fear  was  lest  old  Hofrath 
Winkler  should  some  day  discover  the  secret  of  my  wide  know- 
ledge of  Paris.  Among  other  things  which  I  sent  to  his  declin- 
ing paper  was  a  long  account  of  the  production  of  Freischiitz. 
He  was  particularly  interested  in  it,  as  he  was  the  guardian  of 
Weber's  children ;  and  when  in  one  of  his  letters  he  assured  me 
that  he  would  not  rest  until  he  had  got  the  definite  assurance 
that  Rienzi  had  been  accepted,  I  sent  him,  with  my  most 
profuse  thanks,  the  German  manuscript  of  my  '  Beethoven  ' 
story  for  his  paper.  The  1841  edition  of  this  gazette,  then 
published  by  Arnold,  but  now  no  longer  in  existence,  contains 
the  only  print  of  this  manuscript. 

My  occasional  journalistic  work  was  increased  by  a  request 
from  Lewald,  the  editor  of  Europa,  a  literary  monthly,  asking 
me  to  write  something  for  him.  This  man  was  the  first  who, 
from  time  to  time,  had  mentioned  my  name  to  the  public.  As 
he  used  to  publish  musical  supplements  to  his  elegant  and 


CONTRIBUTIONS   TO  LEWALD'S   'EUROPA'      243 

rather  widely  read  magazine,  I  sent  him  two  of  my  composi- 
tions from  Konigsberg  for  publication.  One  of  these  was  the 
music  I  had  set  to  a  melancholy  poem  by  Scheuerlin,  entitled 
Der  Kndbe  und  der  Tannenbaum  (a  work  of  which  even  to-day 
I  am  still  proud),  and  my  beautiful  Carnevals  Lied  out  of 
Liebesverbot. 

When  I  wanted  to  publish  my  little  French  compositions  — 
Dors,  mon  enfant,  and  the  music  to  Hugo's  Attente  an4 
Ronsard's  Mignonne  —  Lewald  not  only  sent  me  a  small  fed 
—  the  first  I  had  ever  received  for  a  composition  —  but  com- 
missioned some  long  articles  on  my  Paris  impressions,  which 
he  begged  me  to  write  as  entertainingly  as  possible.  For  his 
paper  I  wrote  Pariser  Amusements  and  Pariser  Fatalitaten, 
in  which  I  gave  vent  in  a  humorous  style,  a  la  Heine,  to  all 
my  disappointing  experiences  in  Paris,  and  to  all  my  contempt 
for  the  life  led  by  its  inhabitants.  In  the  second  I  described 
the  existence  of  a  certain  Hermann  Pfau,  a  strange  good-for- 
nothing  with  whom,  during  my  early  Leipzig  days,  I  had 
become  more  intimately  acquainted  than  was  desirable.  This 
man  had  been  wandering  about  Paris  like  a  vagrant  ever  since 
the  beginning  of  the  previous  winter,  and  the  meagre  income 
I  derived  from  arrangements  of  La  Favorita  was  often  partly 
consumed  in  helping  this  completely  broken-down  fellow.  So 
it  was  only  fair  that  I  should  get  back  a  few  francs  of  the 
money  spent  on  him  in  Paris  by  turning  his  adventures  to 
some  account  in  Lewald's  newspapers. 

When  I  came  into  contact  with  Leon  Pillet,  the  manager  of 
the  Opera,  my  literary  work  took  yet  another  direction.  After 
numerous  inquiries  I  eventually  discovered  that  he  had  taken 
a  fancy  to  my  draft  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander.  He  informed 
me  of  this,  and  asked  me  to  sell  him  the  plot,  as  he  was  under 
contract  to  supply  various  composers  with  subjects  for  oper- 
ettas. I  tried  to  explain  to  Pillet,  both  verbally  and  in  writing, 
that  he  could  hardly  expect  that  the  plot  would  be  properly 
treated  except  by  myself,  as  this  draft  was  in  fact  my  own 
idea,  and  that  it  had  only  come  to  his  knowledge  by  my  having 
submitted  it  to  him.  But  it  was  all  to  no  purpose.  He  was 
obliged  to  admit  quite  frankly  that  the  expectations  I  had 
cherished  as  to  the  result  of  Meyerbeer's  recommendation  to 


244  MY   LIFE 

him  would  not  come  to  anything.  He  said  there  was  no 
likelihood  of  my  getting  a  commission  for  a  composition,  even 
of  a  light  opera,  for  the  next  seven  years,  as  his  already  existing 
contracts  extended  over  that  period.  He  asked  me  to  be 
sensible,  and  to  sell  him  the  draft  for  a  small  amount,  so  that 
he  might  have  the  music  written  by  an  author  to  be  selected 
by  him ;  and  he  added  that  if  I  still  wished  to  try  my  luck  at 
the  Opera  House,  I  had  better  see  the  '  ballet-master,'  as  he 
might  want  some  music  for  a  certain  dance.  Seeing  that  I 
contemptuously  refused  this  proposal,  he  left  me  to  my  own 
devices. 

After  endless  and  unsuccessful  attempts  at  getting  the 
matter  settled,  I  at  last  begged  Edouard  Monnaie,  the  Com- 
missaire  for  the  Royal  Theatres,  who  was  not  only  a  friend 
of  mine,  but  also  editor  of  the  Gazette  Musicale,  to  act  as 
mediator.  He  candidly  confessed  that  he  could  not  understand 
Fillet's  liking  for  my  plot,  which  he  also  was  acquainted 
with ;  but  as  Pillet  seemed  to  like  it  —  though  he  would  prob- 
ably lose  it  —  he  advised  me  to  accept  anything  for  it,  as 
Monsieur  Paul  Faucher,  a  brother-in-law  of  Victor  Hugo's, 
had  had  an  offer  to  work  out  the  scheme  for  a  similar  libretto. 
This  gentleman  had,  moreover,  declared  that  there  was  nothing 
new  in  my  plot,  as  the  story  of  the  Vaisseau  Fantome  was  well 
known  in  France.  I  now  saw  how  I  stood,  and,  in  a  conversa- 
tion with  Pillet,  at  which  M.  Faucher  was  present,  I  said  I 
would  come  to  an  arrangement.  My  plot  was  generously 
estimated  by  Pillet  at  five  hundred  francs,  and  I  received  that 
amount  from  the  cash  office  at  the  theatre,  to  be  subsequently 
deducted  from  the  author's  rights  of  the  future  poet. 

Our  summer  residence  in  the  Avenue  de  Meudon  now 
assumed  quite  a  definite  character.  These  five  hundred  francs 
had  to  help  me  to  work  out  the  words  and  music  of  my 
Fliegender  Hollander  for  Germany,  while  I  abandoned  the 
French  Vaisseau  Fantome  to  its  fate. 

The  state  of  my  affairs,  which  was  getting  ever  worse  and 
worse,  was  slightly  improved  by  the  settlement  of  this  matter. 
May  and  June  had  gone  by,  and  during  these  months  our 
troubles  had  grown  steadily  more  serious.  The  lovely  season 
of  the  year,  the  stimulating  country  air,  and  the  sensation  of 


245 

freedom  following  upon  my  deliverance  from  the  wretchedly 
paid  musical  hack-work  I  had  had  to  do  all  the  winter, 
wrought  their  beneficial  effects  on  me,  and  I  was  inspired  to 
write  a  small  story  entitled  Ein  glucTdicher  Abend.  This  was 
translated  and  published  in  French  in  the  Gazette  Musicale. 
Soon,  however,  our  lack  of  funds  began  to  make  itself  felt 
with  a  severity  that  was  very  discouraging.  We  felt  this  all 
the  more  keenly  when  my  sister  Cecilia  and  her  husband, 
following  our  example,  moved  to  a  place  quite  close  to  us. 
Though  not  wealthy,  they  were  fairly  well-to-do.  They  came 
to  see  us  every  day,  but  we  never  thought  it  desirable  to 
let  them  know  how  terribly  hard-up  we  were.  One  day  it 
came  to  a  climax.  Being  absolutely  without  money,  I  started 
out,  early  one  morning,  to  walk  to  Paris  —  for  I  had  not  even 
enough  to  pay  the  railway  fare  thither  —  and  I  resolved  to 
wander  about  the  whole  day,  trudging  from  street  to  street, 
even  until  late  in  the  afternoon,  in  the  hope  of  raising  a  five- 
franc  piece;  but  my  errand  proved  absolutely  vain,  and  I  had 
to  walk  all  the  way  back  to  Meudon  again,  utterly  penniless. 

When  I  told  Minna,  who  came  to  meet  me,  of  my  failure, 
she  informed  me  in  despair  that  Hermann  Pfau,  whom  I  have 
mentioned  before,  had  also  come  to  us  in  the  most  pitiful 
plight,  and  actually  in  want  of  food,  and  that  she  had  had  to  give 
him  the  last  of  the  bread  delivered  by  the  baker  that  morning. 
The  only  hope  that  now  remained  was  that,  at  any  rate,  my 
lodger  Brix,  who  by  a  singular  fate  was  now  our  companion 
in  misfortune,  would  return  with  some  success  from  the  expedi- 
tion to  Paris  which  he  also  had  made  that  morning.  At  last 
he,  too,  returned  bathed  in  perspiration  and  exhausted,  driven 
home  by  the  craving  for  a  meal,  which  he  had  been  unable  to 
procure  in  the  town,  as  he  could  not  find  any  of  the  acquaint- 
ances he  went  to  see.  He  begged  most  piteously  for  a  piece 
of  bread.  This  climax  to  the  situation  at  last  inspired  my  wife 
with  heroic  resolution ;  for  she  felt  it  her  duty  to  exert  herseli 
to  appease  at  least  the  hunger  of  her  menfolk.  For  the  first  time 
during  her  stay  on  French  soil,  she  persuaded  the  baker,  the' 
butcher,  and  wine-merchant,  by  plausible  arguments,  to  supply 
her  with  the  necessaries  of  life  without  immediate  cash  pay- 
ment, and  Minna's  eyes  beamed  when,  an  hour  later,  she  was 


246  MY   LIFE 

able  to  put  before  us  an  excellent  meal,  during  whicb,  as  it 
happened,  we  were  surprised  by  the  Avenarius  family,  who 
were  evidently  relieved  at  finding  us  so  well  provided  for. 

This  extreme  distress  was  relieved  for  a  time,  at  the  beginning 
of  July,  by  the  sale  of  my  Vaisseau  Fantome,  which  meant  my 
final  renunciation  of  my  success  in  Paris.  As  long  as  the 
five  hundred  francs  lasted,  I  had  an  interval  of  respite  for 
carrying  on  my  work.  The  first  object  on  which  I  spent  my 
money  was  on  the  hire  of  a  piano,  a  thing  of  which  I  had  been 
entirely  deprived  for  months.  My  chief  intention  in  so  doing 
was  to  revive  my  faith  in  myself  as  a  musician,  as,  ever  since 
the  autumn  of  the  previous  year,  I  had  exercised  my  talents  as 
a  journalist  and  adapter  of  operas  only.  The  libretto  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander,  which  I  had  hurriedly  written  during  the 
recent  period  of  distress,  aroused  considerable  interest  in  Lehrs ; 
he  actually  declared  I  would  never  write  anything  better, 
and  that  the  Fliegender  Hollander  would  be  my  Don  Juan; 
the  only  thing  now  was  to  find  the  music  for  it.  As  towards 
the  end  of  the  previous  winter  I  still  entertained  the  hopes  of 
being  permitted  to  treat  this  subject  for  the  French  Opera, 
I  had  already  finished  some  of  the  words  and  music  of  the  lyric 
parts,  and  had  had  the  libretto  translated  by  £mile  Deschamps, 
intending  it  for  a  trial  performance,  which,  alas,  never  took 
place.  These  parts  were  the  ballad  of  Senta,  the  song  of  the 
Norwegian  sailors,  and  the  '  Spectre  Song '  of  the  crew  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander.  Since  that  time  I  had  been  so  violently 
torn  away  from  the  music  that,  when  the  piano  arrived  at  my 
rustic  retreat,  I  did  not  dare  to  touch  it  for  a  whole  day.  I 
was  terribly  afraid  lest  I  should  discover  that  my  insju 
had  left  me  —  when  suddenly  I  was  seized  with  the  idea  that 
had  forgotten  to  write  out  the  song  of  the  helmsman  in  the 
first  act,  although,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  could  not  remember 
having  composed  it  at  all,  as  I  had  in  reality  only  just  written 
the  lyrics.  I  succeeded,  and  was  pleased  with  the  result. 
The  same  thing  occurred  with  the  '  Spinner's  Song,'  and  when 
I  had  written  out  these  two  pieces,  and,  on  further  reflection, 
could  not  help  admitting  that  they  had  really  only  taken  shape 
in  my  mind  at  that  moment,  I  was  quite  delirious  with  joy 
at  the  discovery.  In  seven  weeks  the  whole  of  the  music 


THE    VERSATILE    M.    JADIN  247 

of  the  Fliegender  Hollander,  except  the  orchestration,  was 
finished. 

Thereupon  followed  a  general  revival  in  our  circle;  my 
exuberant  good  spirits  astonished  every  one,  and  my  Avenarius 
relations  in  particular  thought  I  must  really  be  prospering,  as 
I  was  such  good  company.  I  resumed  my  long  walks  in  the 
woods  of  Meudon,  frequently  even  consenting  to  help  Minna 
gather  mushrooms,  which,  unfortunately,  were  for  her  the  chief 
charm  of  our  woodland  retreat,  though  it  filled  our  landlord 
with  terror  when  he  saw  us  returning  with  our  spoils,  as  he  felt 
sure  we  should  be  poisoned  if  we  ate  them. 

My  destiny,  which  almost  invariably  led  me  into  strange 
adventures,  here  once  more  introduced  me  to  the  most  eccentric 
character  to  be  found  not  only  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Meudon, 
but  even  in  Paris.  This  was  M.  Jadin,  who,  though  he  was 
old  enough  to  be  able  to  say  that  he  remembered  seeing  Madame 
de  Pompadour  at  Versailles,  was  still  vigorous  beyond  belief. 
It  appeared  to  be  his  aim  to  keep  the  world  in  a  constant  state 
of  conjecture  as  to  his  real  age ;  he  made  everything  for  himself 
with  his  own  hands,  including  even  a  quantity  of  wigs  of  every 
shade,  ranging  in  the  most  comic  variety  from  youthful  flaxen 
to  the  most  venerable  white,  with  intermediate  shades  of  grey ; 
these  he  wore  alternately,  as  the  fancy  pleased  him.  He 
dabbled  in  everything,  and  I  was  pleased  to  find  he  had  a 
particular  fancy  for  painting.  The  fact  that  all  the  walls  of 
his  rooms  were  hung  with  the  most  childish  caricatures  of  animal 
life,  and  that  he  had  even  embellished  the  outside  of  his  blinds 
with  the  most  ridiculous  paintings,  did  not  disconcert  me  in 
the  least;  on  the  contrary,  it  confirmed  my  belief  that  he  did 
not  dabble  in  music,  until,  to  my  horror,  I  discovered  that  the 
strangely  discordant  sounds  of  a  harp  which  kept  reaching  my 
ears  from  some  unknown  region  were  actually  proceeding  from 
his  basement,  where  he  had  two  harpsichords  of  his  own  inven- 
tion. He  informed  me  that  he  had  unfortunately  neglected 
playing  them  for  a  long  time,  but  that  he  now  meant  to  begin 
practising  again  assiduously  in  order  to  give  me  pleasure.  I 
succeeded  in  dissuading  him  from  this,  by  assuring  him  that  the 
doctor  had  forbidden  me  to  listen  to  the  harp,  as  it  was  bad  for 
my  nerves.  His  figure  as  I  saw  him  for  the  last  time  remains 


248  MY   LIFE 

impressed  on  my  memory,  like  an  apparition  from  the  world 
of  Hoffmann's  fairy-tales.  In  the  late  autumn,  when  we  were 
going  back  to  Paris,  he  asked  us  to  take  with  us  on  our  furniture 
van  an  enormous  stove-pipe,  of  which  he  promised  to  relieve  us 
shortly.  One  very  cold  day  Jadin  actually  presented  himself 
at  our  new  abode  in  Paris,  in  a  most  preposterous  costume 
of  his  own  manufacture,  consisting  of  very  thin  light-yellow 
trousers,  a  very  short  pale-green  dress-coat  with  conspicuously 
long  tails,  projecting  lace  shirt  frills  and  cuffs,  a  very  fair  wig, 
and  a  hat  so  small  that  it  was  constantly  dropping  off;  he 
wore  in  addition  a  quantity  of  imitation  jewellery  —  and  all  this 
on  the  undisguised  assumption  that  he  could  not  go  about  in 
fashionable  Paris  dressed  as  simply  as  in  the  country.  He 
had  come  for  the  stove-pipe;  we  asked  him  where  the  men  to 
carry  it  were;  in  reply  he  simply  smiled,  and  expressed  his 
surprise  at  our  helplessness;  and  thereupon  took  the  enormous 
stove-pipe  under  his  arm  and  absolutely  refused  to  accept  our 
help  when  we  offered  to  assist  him  in  carrying  it  down  the 
stairs,  though  this  operation,  notwithstanding  his  vaunted 
skill,  occupied  him  quite  half  an  hour.  Every  one  in  the  house 
assembled  to  witness  this  removal,  but  he  was  by  no  means 
disconcerted,  and  managed  to  get  the  pipe  through  the  street 
door,  and  then  tripped  gracefully  along  the  pavement  with  it, 
and  disappeared  from  our  sight. 

For  this  short  though  eventful  period,  during  which  I  was 
quite  free  to  give  full  scope  to  my  inmost  thoughts,  I  indulged 
in  the  consolation  of  purely  artistic  creations.  I  can  only  say 
that,  when  it  came  to  an  end,  I  had  made  such  progress  that  I 
could  look  forward  with  cheerful  composure  to  the  much  longer 
period  of  trouble  and  distress  I  felt  was  in  store  for  me.  This, 
in  fact,  duly  set  in,  for  I  had  only  just  completed  the  last  scene 
when  I  found  that  my  five  hundred  francs  were  coming  to  an 
end,  and  what  was  left  was  not  sufficient  to  secure  me  the 
necessary  peace  and  freedom  from  worry  for  composing  the 
overture;  I  had  to  postpone  this  until  my  luck  should  take 
another  favourable  turn,  and  meanwhile  I  was  forced  to  engage 
in  the  struggle  for  a  bare  subsistence,  making  efforts  of  all  kinds 
that  left  me  neither  leisure  nor  peace  of  mind.  The  concienre 
from  the  Rue  du  Helder  brought  us  the  news  that  the  mysterious 


'FLIEGENDER   HOLLANDER'  249 

J*-*-*1*-^*-*'-^* 

family  to  whom  we  had  let  our  rooms  had  left,  and  that  we  were 
now  once  more  responsible  for  the  rent.  I  had  to  tell  him  that 
I  would  not  under  any  circumstances  trouble  about  the  rooms' 
any  more,  and  that  the  landlord  might  recoup  himself  by  the 
sale  of  the  furniture  we  had  left  there.  This  was  done  at  a 
very  heavy  loss,  and  the  furniture,  the  greater  part  of  which 
was  still  unpaid  for,  was  sacrificed  to  pay  the  rent  of  a  dwelling 
which  we  no  longer  occupied. 

Under  the  stress  of  the  most  terrible  privations  I  still  en- 
deavoured to  secure  sufficient  leisure  for  working  out  the  or- 
chestration of  the  score  of  the  Fliegender  Hollcmder.  The  rough 
autumn  weather  set  in  at  an  exceptionally  early  date;  people 
were  all  leaving  their  country  houses  for  Paris,  and,  among  them, 
the  Avenarius  family.  We,  however,  could  not  dream  of  doing 
so,  for  we  could  not  even  raise  the  funds  for  the  journey.  When 
M.  Jadin  expressed  his  surprise  at  this,  I  pretended  to  be  so 
pressed  with  work  that  I  could  not  interrupt  it,  although  I  felt 
the  cold  that  penetrated  through  the  thin  walls  of  the  house 
very  severely. 

So  I  waited  for  help  from  Ernst  Castel,  one  of  my  old  Konigs- 
berg  friends,  a  well-to-do  young  merchant,  who  a  short  time  be- 
fore had  called  on  us  in  Meudon  and  treated  us  to  a  luxurious 
repast  in  Paris,  promising  at  the  same  time  to  relieve  our  neces- 
sities as  soon  as  possible  by  an  advance,  which  we  knew  was  an 
easy  matter  to  him. 

By  way  of  cheering  us  up,  Kietz  came  over  to  us  one  day, 
with  a  large  portfolio  and  a  pillow  under  his  arm ;  he  intended 
to  amuse  us  by  working  at  a  large  caricature  representing 
myself  and  my  unfortunate  adventures  in  Paris,  and  the  pillow 
was  to  enable  him,  after  his  labours,  to  get  some  rest  on  our 
hard  couch,  which  he  had  noticed  had  no  pillows  at  the  head. 
Knowing  that  we  had  a  difficulty  in  procuring  fuel,  he  brought 
with  him  some  bottles  of  rum,  to  t  warm '  us  with  punch  during 
the  cold  evenings ;  under  these  circumstances  I  read  Hoffmann's 
Tales  to  him  and  my  wife. 

At  last  I  had  news  from  Konigsberg,  but  it  only  opened  my 
eyes  to  the  fact  that  the  gay  young  dog  had  not  meant  his 
promise  seriously.  We  now  looked  forward  almost  with  despair 
to  the  chilly  mists  of  approaching  winter,  but  Kietz,  declaring 


250  MY   LIFE 

that  it  was  his  place  to  find  help,  packed  up  his  portfolio, 
placed  it  under  his  arm  with  the  pillow,  and  went  off  to  Paris. 
On  the  next  day  he  returned  with  two  hundred  francs,  that  he 
had  managed  to  procure  by  means  of  generous  self-sacrifice. 
We  at  once  set  off  for  Paris,  and  took  a  small  apartment  near 
our  friends,  in  the  back  part  of  No.  14  Hue  Jacob.  I  after- 
wards heard  that  shortly  after  we  left  it  was  occupied  by 
Proudhon. 

We  got  back  to  town  on  30th  October.  Our  home  was  ex- 
ceedingly small  and  cold,  and  its  chilliness  in  particular  made  it 
very  bad  for  our  health.  We  furnished  it  scantily  with  the  little 
we  had  saved  from  the  wreck  of  the  Hue  du  Helder,  and  awaited 
the  results  of  my  efforts  towards  getting  my  works  accepted 
and  produced  in  Germany.  The  first  necessity  was  at  all  costs 
to  secure  peace  and  quietness  for  myself  for  the  short  time 
which  I  should  have  to  devote  to  the  overture  of  the  Fliegender 
Hollander;  I  told  Kietz  that  he  would  have  to  procure  the 
money  necessary  for  my  household  expenses  until  this  work 
was  finished  and  the  full  score  of  the  opera  sent  off.  With  the 
aid  of  a  pedantic  uncle,  who  had  lived  in  Paris  a  long  time 
and  who  was  also  a  painter,  he  succeeded  in  providing  me  with 
the  necessary  assistance,  in  instalments  of  five  or  ten  francs 
at  a  time.  During  this  period  I  often  pointed  with  cheerful 
pride  to  my  boots,  which  became  mere  travesties  of  footgear, 
as  the  soles  eventually  disappeared  altogether. 

As  long  as  I  was  engaged  on  the  Dutchman,  and  Kietz  was 
looking  after  me,  this  made  no  difference,  for  I  never  went  out : 
but  when  I  had  despatched  my  completed  score  to  the  manage- 
ment of  the  Berlin  Court  Theatre  at  the  beginning  of  December, 
the  bitterness  of  the  position  could  no  longer  be  disguised.  It 
was  necessary  for  me  to  buckle  to  and  look  for  help  myself. 

What  this  meant  in  Paris  I  learned  just  about  this  time  from 
the  hapless  fate  of  the  worthy  Lehrs.  Driven  by  need  such  as 
I  myself  had  had  to  surmount  a  year  before  at  about  the  same 
time,  he  had  been  compelled  on  a  broiling  hot  day  in  the 
previous  summer  to  scour  the  various  quarters  of  the  city 
breathlessly,  to  get  grace  for  bills  he  had  accepted,  and  which 
had  fallen  due.  He  foolishly  took  an  iced  drink,  which  he  hoped 
would  refresh  him  in  his  distressing  condition,  but  it  immediately 


LEHR'S   DEPLORABLE   CONDITION         251 

made  him  lose  his  voice,  and  from  that  day  he  was  the  victim 
of  a  hoarseness  which  with  terrific  rapidity  ripened  the  seeds 
of  consumption,  doubtless  latent  in  him,  and  developed  that 
incurable  disease.  For  months  he  had  been  growing  weaker 
and  weaker,  filling  us  at  last  with  the  gloomiest  anxiety:  he 
alone  believed  the  supposed  chill  would  be  cured,  if  he  could 
heat  his  room  better  for  a  time.  One  day  I  sought  him  out  in 
his  lodging,  where  I  found  him  in  the  icy-cold  room,  huddled 
up  at  his  writing-table,  and  complaining  of  the  difficulty  of  his 
work  for  Didot,  which  was  all  the  more  distressing  as  his 
employer  was  pressing  him  for  advances  he  had  made. 

He  declared  that  if  he  had  not  had  the  consolation  in  those 
doleful  hours  of  knowing  that  I  had,  at  any  rate,  got  my 
Dutchman  finished,  and  that  a  prospect  of  success  was  thus 
opened  to  the  little  circle  of  friends,  his  misery  would  have 
been  hard  indeed  to  bear.  Despite  my  own  great  trouble,  I 
begged  him  to  share  our  fire  and  work  in  my  room.  He  smiled 
at  my  courage  in  trying  to  help  others,  especially  as  my  quar- 
ters offered  barely  space  enough  for  myself  and  my  wife.  How- 
ever, one  evening  he  came  to  us  and  silently  showed  me  a  letter 
he  had  received  from  Villemain,  the  Minister  of  Education  at 
that  time,  in  which  the  latter  expressed  in  the  warmest  terms 
his  great  regret  at  having  only  just  learned  that  so  distinguished 
a  scholar,  whose  able  and  extensive  collaboration  in  Didot's 
issue  of  the  Greek  classics  had  made  him  participator  in  a  work 
that  was  the  glory  of  the  nation,  should  be  in  such  bad  health 
and  straitened  circumstances.  Unfortunately,  the  amount  of 
public  money  which  he  had  at  his  disposal  at  that  moment  for 
subsidising  literature  only  allowed  of  his  offering  him  the  sum 
of  five  hundred  francs,  which  he  enclosed  with  apologies,  asking 
him  to  accept  it  as  a  recognition  of  his  merits  on  the  part  of 
the  French  Government,  and  adding  that  it  was  his  intention 
to  give  earnest  consideration  as  to  how  he  might  materially 
improve  his  position. 

This  filled  us  with  the  utmost  thankfulness  on  poor  Lehrs' 
account,  and  we  looked  on  the  incident  almost  as  a  miracle. 
We  could  not  help  assuming,  however,  that  M.  Villemain  had 
been  influenced  by  Didot,  who  had  been  prompted  by  his  own 
guilty  conscience  for  his  despicable  exploitation  of  Lehrs,  and 


252  MY   LIFE 

by  the  prospect  of  thus  relieving  himself  of  the  responsibility 
of  helping  him.  At  the  same  time,  from  similar  cases  within 
our  knowledge,  which  were  fully  confirmed  by  my  own  subse- 
quent experience,  we  were  driven  to  the  conclusion  that  such 
prompt  and  considerate  sympathy  on  the  part  of  a  minister 
would  have  been  impossible  in  Germany.  Lehrs  would  now 
have  a  fire  to  work  by,  but  alas!  our  fears  as  to  his  declining 
health  could  not  be  allayed.  When  we  left  Paris  in  the  follow- 
ing spring,  it  was  the  certainty  that  we  should  never  see  our 
dear  friend  again  that  made  our  parting  so  painful. 

In  my  own  great  distress  I  was  again  exposed  to  the  annoy- 
ance of  having  to  write  numerous  unpaid  articles  for  the 
Abendzeitung,  as  my  patron,  Hofrath  Winkler,  was  still  unable 
to  give  me  any  satisfactory  account  of  the  fate  of  my  Rienzi  in 
Dresden.  In  these  circumstances  I  was  obliged  to  consider  it 
a  good  thing  that  Halevy's  latest  opera  was  at  last  a  success. 
Schlesinger  came  to  us  radiant  with  joy  at  the  success  of  La 
Eeine  de  CJiypre,  and  promised  me  eternal  bliss  for  the  piano 
score  and  various  other  arrangements  I  had  made  of  this 
newest  rage  in  the  sphere  of  opera.  So  I  was  again  forced  to 
pay  the  penalty  for  composing  my  own  Fliegender  Hollander  by 
having  to  sit  down  and  write  out  arrangements  of  Halevy's 
opera.  Yet  this  task  no  longer  weighed  on  me  so  heavily. 
Apart  from  the  wellfounded  hope  of  being  at  last  recalled 
from  my  exile  in  Paris,  and  thus  being  able,  as  I  thought,  to 
regard  this  last  struggle  with  poverty  as  the  decisive  one,  the 
arrangement  of  Halevy's  score  was  far  and  away  a  more  inter- 
esting piece  of  hack-work  than  the  shameful  labour  I  had  spent 
on  Donizetti's  Favorita. 

I  paid  another  visit,  the  last  for  a  long  time  to  come,  to  the 
Grand  Opera  to  hear  this  Reine  de  Chypre.  There  was,  in- 
deed, much  for  me  to  smile  at.  My  eyes  were  no  longer  shut  to 
the  extreme  weakness  of  this  class  of  work,  and  the  caricature 
of  it  that  was  often  produced  by  the  method  of  rendering  it.  I 
was  sincerely  rejoiced  to  see  the  better  side  of  Halevy  again. 
I  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  him  from  the  time  of  his  La  Juive, 
and  had  a  very  high  opinion  of  his  masterly  talent 

At  the  request  of  Schlesinger  I  also  willingly  consented  to 
write  for  his  paper  a  long  article  on  Halevy's  latest  work.  In 


HALEVY'S   <REINE    DE    CHYPRE'  253 

it  I  laid  particular  stress  on  my  hope  that  the  French  school 
might  not  again  allow  the  benefits  obtained  by  studying  the 
German  style  to  be  lost  by  relapsing  into  the  shallowest  Italian 
methods.  On  that  occasion  I  ventured,  by  way  of  encouraging 
the  French  school,  to  point  to  the  peculiar  significance  of  Auber, 
and  particularly  to  his  Stumme  von  Portici,  drawing  attention, 
on  the  other  hand,  to  the  overloaded  melodies  of  Rossini,  which 
often  resembled  sol-fa  exercises.  In  reading  over  the  proof 
of  my  article  I  saw  that  this  passage  about  Rossini  had  been 
left  out,  and  M.  Edouard  Monnaie  admitted  to  me  that,  in 
his  capacity  as  editor  of  a  musical  paper,  he  had  felt  himself 
bound  to  suppress  it.  He  considered  that  if  I  had  any  adverse 
criticism  to  pass  on  the  composer,  I  could  easily  get  it  pub- 
lished in  any  other  kind  of  paper,  but  not  in  one  devoted  to 
the  interests  of  music,  simply  because  such  a  passage  could  not 
be  printed  there  without  seeming  absurd.  It  also  annoyed  him 
that  I  had  spoken  in  such  high  terms  of  Auber,  but  he  let  it 
stand.  I  had  to  listen  to  much  from  that  quarter  which  en- 
lightened me  for  ever  with  regard  to  the  decay  of  operatic 
music  in  particular,  and  artistic  taste  in  general,  among  French- 
men of  the  present  day. 

I  also  wrote  a  longer  article  on  the  same  opera  for  my 
precious  friend  Winkler  at  Dresden,  who  was  still  hesitating 
about  accepting  my  Rienzi.  In  doing  so  I  intentionally  made 
merry  over  a  mishap  that  had  befallen  Lachner  the  conductor. 
Kiistner,  who  was  theatrical  director  at  Munich  at  the  time, 
with  a  view  to  giving  his  friend  another  chance,  ordered  a 
libretto  to  be  written  for  him  by  St.  Georges  in  Paris,  so  that, 
through  his  paternal  care,  the  highest  bliss  which  a  German 
composer  could  dream  of  might  be  assured  to  his  protege. 
Well,  it  turned  out  that  when  Ilalevy's  Reine  de  Chypre  ap- 
peared, it  treated  the  same  subject  as  Lachner's  presumably 
original  work,  which  had  been  composed  in  the  meantime.  It 
mattered  very  little  that  the  libretto  was  a  really  good  one,  the 
value  of  the  bargain  lay  in  the  fact  that  it  was  to  be  glorified 
by  Lachner's  music.  It  appeared,  however,  that  St.  Georges 
had,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  to  some  extent  altered  the  book  sent 
to  Munich,  but  only  by  the  omission  of  several  interesting 
features.  The  fury  of  the  Munich  manager  was  great,  where- 


254:  MY  LIFE 

upon  St.  Georges  declared  his  astonishment  that  the  latter  could 
have  imagined  he  would  supply  a  libretto  intended  solely  for 
the  German  stage  at  the  paltry  price  offered  by  his  German 
customer.  As  I  had  formed  my  own  private  opinion  as  to  pro- 
curing French  librettos  for  operas,  and  as  nothing  in  the  world 
would  have  induced  me  to  set  to  music  even  the  most  effective 
piece  of  writing  by  Scribe  or  St.  Georges,  this  occurrence  de- 
lighted me  immensely,  and  in  the  best  of  spirits  I  let  myself 
go  on  the  point  for  the  benefit  of  the  readers  of  the  Abend- 
zeitung,  who,  it  is  to  be  hoped,  did  not  include  my  future 
1  friend '  Lachner. 

In  addition,  my  work  on  Halevy's  opera  (Beine  de  Chypre) 
brought  me  into  closer  contact  with  that  composer,  and  was  the 
means  of  procuring  me  many  an  enlivening  talk  with  that 
peculiarly  good-hearted  and  really  unassuming  man,  whose 
talent,  alas,  declined  all  too  soon.  Schlesinger,  in  fact,  was 
exasperated  at  his  incorrigible  laziness.  Halevy,  who  had  looked 
through  my  piano  score,  contemplated  several  changes  with  a 
view  to  making  it  easier,  but  he  did  not  proceed  with  them: 
Schlesinger  could  not  get  the  proof-sheets  back;  the  publi- 
cation was  consequently  delayed,  and  he  feared  that  the  popu- 
larity of  the  opera  would  be  over  before  the  work  was  ready 
for  the  public.  He  urged  me  to  get  firm  hold  of  Halevy  very 
early  in  the  morning  in  his  rooms,  and  compel  him  to  set  to 
work  at  the  alterations  in  my  company. 

The  first  time  I  reached  his  house  at  about  ten  in  the  morning, 
I  found  him  just  out  of  bed,  and  he  informed  me  that  he  really 
must  have  breakfast  first.  I  accepted  his  invitation,  and  sat 
down  with  him  to  a  somewhat  luxurious  meal;  my  conversa- 
tion seemed  to  appeal  to  him,  but  friends  came  in,  and  at  last 
Schlesinger  among  the  number,  who  burst  into  a  fury  at  not 
finding  him  at  work  on  the  proofs  he  regarded  as  so  important. 
Halevy,  however,  remained  quite  unmoved.  In  the  best  of 
good  tempers  he  merely  complained  of  his  latest  success,  be- 
cause he  had  never  had  more  peace  than  of  late,  when  his 
operas,  almost  without  exception,  had  been  failures,  and  he  had 
not  had  anything  to  do  with  them  after  the  first  production. 
Moreover,  he  feigned  not  to  understand  why  this  Reine  de 
Chypre  in  particular  should  have  been  a  success;  he  declared 


HALEVY   AND   SCHLESINGER  255 

that  Schlesinger  had  engineered  it  on  purpose  to  worry  him. 
When  he  spoke  a  few  words  to  me  in  German,  one  of  the  visitors 
was  astonished,  whereupon  Schlesinger  said  that  all  Jews 
could  speak  German.  Thereupon  Schlesinger  was  asked  if  he 
also  was  a  Jew.  He  answered  that  he  had  been,  but  had  be- 
come a  Christian  for  his  wife's  sake.  This  freedom  of  speech 
was  a  pleasant  surprise  to  me,  because  in  Germany  in  such 
cases  we  always  studiously  avoided  the  point,  as  discourteous 
to  the  person  referred  to.  But  as  we  never  got  to  the  proof 
correcting,  Schlesinger  made  me  promise  to  give  Halevy  no 
peace  until  we  had  done  them. 

The  secret  of  his  indifference  to  success  became  clear  to  me 
in  the  course  of  further  conversation,  as  I  learned  that  he 
was  on  the  point  of  making  a  wealthy  marriage.  At  first  I 
was  inclined  to  think  that  Halevy  was  simply  a  man  whose 
youthful  talent  was  only  stimulated  to  achieve  one  great  suc- 
cess with  the  object  of  becoming  rich;  in  his  case,  however, 
this  was  not  the  only  reason,  as  he  was  very  modest  in  regard 
to  his  own  capacity,  and  had  no  great  opinion  of  the  works 
of  those  more  fortunate  composers  who  were  writing  for  the 
French  stage  at  that  time.  In  him  I  thus,  for  the  first  time, 
met  with  tie  frankly  expressed  admission  of  disbelief  in  the 
value  of  all  our  modern  creations  in  this  dubious  field  of  art. 
I  have  since  come  to  the  conclusion  that  this  incredulity,  often 
expressed  with  much  less  modesty,  justifies  the  participation 
of  all  Jews  in  our  artistic  concerns.  Only  once  did  Halevy 
speak  to  me  with  real  candour,  when,  on  my  tardy  departure 
for  Germany,  he  wished  me  the  success  he  thought  my  works 
deserved. 

In  the  year  1860  I  saw  him  again.  I  had  learned  that, 
while  the  Parisian  critics  were  giving  vent  to  the  bitterest 
condemnation  of  the  concerts  I  was  giving  at  that  time,  he 
had  expressed  his  approval,  and  this  determined  me  to  visit  - 
him  at  the  Palais  de  1'Institut,  of  which  he  had  for  some  time 
been  permanent  secretary.  He  seemed  particularly  eager  to 
learn  from  my  own  lips  what  my  new  theory  about  music 
really  was,  of  which  he  had  heard  such  wild  rumours.  For 
his  own  part,  he  saidjjigjiad,  never  fo""^  apyf^n'ng  but  music 
in  my  music,  but  with  this  difference,  that  mine  had  generally 


256  MY   LIFE 

seemed  very  good.  This  gave  rise  to  a  lively  discussion  on  my 
part,  to  which  he  good-humouredly  agreed,  once  more  wishing 
me  success  in  Paris.  This  time,  however,  he  did  so  with  less 
conviction  than  when  he  bade  me  good-bye  for  Germany,  which 
I  thought  was  because  he  doubted  whether  I  could  succeed 
in  Paris.  From  this  final  visit  I  carried  away  a  depressing 
sense  of  the  enervation,  both  moral  and  esthetic,  which  had 
overcome  one  of  the  last  great  French  musicians,  while,  on 
the  other  hand,  I  could  not  help  feeling  that  a  tendency  to  a 
hypocritical  or  frankly  impudent  exploitation  of  the  universal 
degeneracy  marked  all  who  could  be  designated  as  Halevy's 
successors. 

!  Throughout  this  period  of  constant  hack-work  my  thoughts 
were  entirely  bent  on  my  return  to  Germany,  which  now  pre- 
sented itself  to  my  mind  in  a  wholly  new  and  ideal  light.  I 
endeavoured  in  various  ways  to  secure  all  that  seemed  most 
attractive  about  the  project,  or  which  filled  my  soul  with  long- 
ing. My  intercourse  with  Lehrs  had,  on  the  whole,  given  a 
decided  spur  to  my  former  tendency  to  grapple  seriously  with 
\  my  subjects,  a  tendency  which  had  been  counteracted  by  closer 
contact  with  the  theatre.  This  desire  now  furnished  a  basis 
for  closer  study  of  philosophical  questions.  I  had  been  as- 
tonished at  times  to  hear  even  the  grave  and  virtuous  Lehrs, 
openly  and  quite  as  a  matter  of  course,  give  expression  to 
grave  doubts  concerning  our  individual  survival  after  death. 
He  declared  that  in  many  great  men  this  doubt,  even  though 
only  tacitly  held,  had  been  the  real  incitement  to  noble  deeds. 
The  natural  result  of  such  a  belief  speedily  dawned  on  me 
without,  however,  causing  me  any  serious  alarm.  On  the  con- 
trary, I  found  a  fascinating  stimulus  in  the  fact  that  bound- 
less regions  of  meditation  and  knowledge  were  thereby  opened 
up  which  hitherto  I  had  merely  skimmed  in  light-hearted 
levity. 

In  my.xenewed-aiifinipts  to  study  the  Greek  classics  in  the 
original,  I  received  no  encouragement  from  Lehrs.  He  dis- 
suaded me  from  doing  so  with  the  well-meant  consolation,  that 
as  I  could  only  be  born  once,  and  that  with  music  in  me,  I 
should  learn  to  understand  this  branch  of  knowledge  without 
the  help  of  grammar  or  lexicon;  whereas  if  Greek  were  to  be 


DRAFT    OF    'DIE   SARAZENIN' 

studied  with  real  enjoyment,  it  was  no  joke,  and  would  not 
suffer  being  relegated  to  a  secondary  place. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  felt  strongly  dra\vn  to  gain  a  closer 
^aeq«ai»tftRce~of  German  history  than  I  had  secured  at  school.' 
I  had  Raumer's  History  of  the  Hohenstaufen  within  easy  reach 
to  start  upon.  All  the  great  figures  in  this  book  lived  vividly 
before  my  eyes.  I  was  particularly  captivated  by  the  per- 
sonality of  that  gifted  Emperor  Frederick  II.,  whose  for- 
tunes aroused  my  sympathy  so  keenly  that  I  vainly  sought 
for  a  fitting  artistic  setting  for  them.  The  fate  of  his 
son  Manfred,  on  the  other  hand,  provoked  in  me  an 
equally  well-grounded,  but  more  easily  combated,  feeling  of 
opposition. 

I  accordingly  made  a  plan  of  a  great  five-act  dramatic  poem, 
which  should  also  be  perfectly  adapted  to  a  musical  setting. 
My  impulse  to  embellish  the  story  with  the  central  figure  of 
romantic  significance  was  prompted  by  the  fact  of  Manfred's 
enthusiastic  reception  in  Luceria  by  the  Saracens,  who  sup- 
ported him  and  carried  him  on  from  victory  to  victory  till  he 
reached  his  final  triumph,  and  this,  too,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  he  had  come  to  them  betrayed  on  every  hand,  banned  by 
the  Church,  and  deserted  by  all  his  followers  during  his  flight 
through  Apulia  and  the  Abruzzi. 

Even  at  this  time  it  delighted  me  to  find  in  the  German 
mind  the  capacity  of  appreciating  beyond  the  narrow  bounds 
of  nationality  all  purely  human  qualities,  in  however  strange 
a  garb  they  might  be  presented.  For  in  this  I  recognised  how 
nearly  akin  it  is  to  the  mind  of  Greece.  In  Frederick  II.  I  saw 
this  quality  in  full  flower.  A  fair-haired  German  of  ancient 
Swabian  stock,  heir  to  the  Norman  realm  of  Sicily  and  Naples, 
who  gave  the  Italian  language  its  first  development,  and  laid 
a  basis  for  the  evolution  of  knowledge  and  art  where  hitherto 
ecclesiastical  fanaticism  and  feudal  brutality  had  alone  con- 
tended for  power,  a  monarch  who  gathered  at  his  court  the 
poets  and  sages  of  eastern  lands,  and  surrounded  himself  with 
the  living  products  of  Arabian  and  Persian  grace  and  spirit  — 
this  man  I  beheld  betrayed  by  the  Roman  clergy  to  the  infidel 
foe,  yet  ending  his  crusade,  to  their  bitter  disappointment,  by 
a  pact  of  peace  with  the  Sultan,  from  whom  he  obtained  a 


MY   LIFE 

grant  of  privileges  to  Christians  in  Palestine  suck  as  the 
bloodiest  victory  could  scarcely  have  secured. 

In  this  wonderful  Emperor,  who  finally,  under  the  ban  of 
that  same  Church,  struggled  hopelessly  and  in  vain  against  the 
savage  bigotry  of  his  age,  I  beheld  the  German  ideal  in  its 
highest  embodiment.  My  poem  was  concerned  with  the  fate 
of  his  favourite  son  Manfred.  On  the  death  of  an  elder  brother, 
Frederick's  empire  had  entirely  fallen  to  pieces,  and  the  young 
Manfred  was  left,  under  papal  suzerainty,  in  nominal  possession 
of  the  throne  of  Apulia,  We  find  him  at  Capua,  in  surround- 
ings, and  attended  by  a  court,  in  which  the  spirit  of  his  great 
father  survives,  in  a  state  of  almost  effeminate  degeneration. 
In  despair  of  ever  restoring  the  imperial  power  of  the  Hohen- 
staufen,  he  seeks  to  forget  his  sadness  in  romance  and  song. 
There  now  appears  upon  the  scene  a  young  Saracen  lady,  just 
arrived  from  the  East,  who,  by  appealing  to  the  alliance  between 
East  and  West  concluded  by  Manfred's  noble  father,  conjures 
the  desponding  son  to  maintain  his  imperial  heritage.  She 
acts  the  part  of  an  inspired  prophetess,  and  though  the  prince 
is  quickly  filled  with  love  for  her,  she  succeeds  in  keeping 
him  at  a  respectful  distance.  By  a  skilfully  contrived  flight 
she  snatches  him,  not  only  from  the  pursuit  of  rebellious  Apulian 
nobles,  but  also  from  the  papal  ban  which  is  threatening  to 
depose  him  from  his  throne.  Accompanied  only  by  a  few 
faithful  followers,  she  guides  him  through  mountain  fastnesses, 
where  one  night  the  wearied  son  beholds  the  spirit  of  Frederick 
II.  passing  with  feudal  array  through  the  Abruzzi,  and  beckon- 
ing him  on  to  Luceria. 

To  this  district,  situated  in  the  Papal  States,  Frederick  had, 
by  a  peaceful  compact,  transplanted  the  remnant  of  hit  Saracen 
retainers,  who  had  previously  been  wreaking  terrible  havoc  in 
the  mountains  of  Sicily.  To  the  great  annoyance  of  the  Pope, 
he  had  handed  the  town  over  to  them  in  fee-simple,  thus  securing 
for  himself  a  band  of  faithful  allies  in  the  heart  of  an  ever- 
treacherous  and  hostile  country. 

Fatima,  as  my  heroine  is  called,  has  prepared,  through  the 
instrumentality  of  trusty  friends,  a  reception  for  Manfred  in 
this  place.  When  the  papal  governor  has  been  expelled  by  a 
revolution,  he  slips  through  the  gateway  into  the  town,  is 


DRAFT   OF   'DIE    SARAZENIN'  259 

recognised  by  the  whole  population  as  the  son  of  their  beloved 
Emperor,  and,  amid  wildest  enthusiasm,  is  placed  at  their  head, 
to  lead  them  against  the  enemies  of  their  departed  benefactor. 
In  the  meantime,  while  Manfred  is  marching  on  from  victory 
to  victory  in  his  reconquest  of  the  whole  kingdom  of  Apulia, 
the  tragic  centre  of  my  action  still  continues  to  be  the  unvoiced 
longing  of  the  lovelorn  victor  for  the  marvellous  heroine. 

She  is  the  child  of  the  great  Emperor's  love  for  a  noble 
Saracen  maiden.  Her  mother,  on  her  deathbed,  had  sent  her 
to  Manfred,  foretelling  that  she  would  work  wonders  for  his 
glory  provided  she  never  yielded  to  his  passion.  Whether 
Fatima  was  to  know  that  she  was  his  sister  I  left  undecided  in 
framing  my  plot.  Meanwhile  she  is  careful  to  show  herself 
to  him  only  at  critical  moments,  and  then  always  in  such  a  way 
as  to  remain  unapproachable.  When  at  last  she  witnesses  the 
completion  of  her  task  in  his  coronation  at  Naples,  she  deter- 
mines, in  obedience  to  her  vow,  to  slip  away  secretly  from  the 
newly  anointed  king,  that  she  may  meditate  in  the  solitude 
of  her  distant  home  upon  the  success  of  her  enterprise. 

The  Saracen  Nurreddin,  who  had  been  a  companion  of  her 
youth,  and  to  whose  help  she  had  chiefly  owed  her  success  in 
rescuing  Manfred,  is  to  be  the  sole  partner  of  her  flight.  To 
this  man,  who  loves  her  with  passionate  ardour,  she  had  been 
promised  in  her  childhood.  Before  her  secret  departure  she 
pays  a  last  visit  to  the  slumbering  king.  This  rouses  her  lover's 
furious  jealousy,  as  he  construes  her  act  into  a  proof  of  un- 
faithfulness on  the  part  of  his  betrothed.  The  last  look  of 
farewell  which  Fatima  casts  from  a  distance  at  the  young 
monarch,  on  his  return  from  his  coronation,  inflames  the  jealous 
lover  to  wreak  instant  vengeance  for  the  supposed  outrage  upon 
his  honour.  He  strikes  the  prophetess  to  the  earth,  whereupon 
she  thanks  him  with  a  smile  for  having  delivered  her  from 
an  unbearable  existence.  At  the  sight  of  her  body  Manfred 
realises  that  henceforth  happiness  has  deserted  him  for  ever. 

This  theme  I  had  adorned  with  many  gorgeous  scenes  and 
complicated  situations,  so  that  when  I  had  worked  it  out  I 
could  regard  it  as  a  fairly  suitable,  interesting,  and  effective 
whole,  especially  when  compared  with  other  well-known  sub- 
jects of  a  similar  nature.  Yet  I  could  never  rouse  myself  to 

« 


260  MY   LIFE 

sufficient  enthusiasm  over  it  to  give  my  serious  attention  to 
its  elaboration,  especially  as  another  theme  now  laid  its  grip 
upon  me.  This  was  suggested  to  me  by  a  pamphlet  on  the 
'  Venusberg,'  which  accidentally  fell  into  my  hands. 

If  all  that  I  regarded  as  essentially  German  had  hitherto 
drawn  me  with  ever-increasing  force,  and  compelled  me  to  its 
eager  pursuit,  I  here  found  it  suddenly  presented  to  mo  iii  the 
simple  outlines  of  a  legend,  based  upon  the  old  and  well-known 
ballad  of  'Tannhauser.'  True,  its  elements  were  already  familiar 
to  me  from  Tieck's  version  in  his  Phantasus.  But  his  concep- 
tion of  the  subject  had  flung  me  back  into  the  fantastic  regions 
created  in  my  mind  at  an  earlier  period  by  Hoffmann,  and 
I  should  certainly  never  have  been  tempted  to  extract  the 
framework  of  a  dramatic  work  from  his  elaborate  story.  The 
point  in  this  popular  pamphlet  which  had  so  much  weight  with 
me  was  that  it  brought  '  Tannhauser,'  if  only  by  a  passing 
hint,  into  touch  with  '  The  Minstrel's  War  on  the  Wartburg.' 
I  had  some  knowledge  of  this  also  from  Hoffmann's  account 
in  his  Serapionsbriidem.  But  I  felt  that  the  writer  had  only 
grasped  the  old  legend  in  a  distorted  form,  and  therefore  en- 
deavoured to  gain  a  closer  acquaintance  with  the  true  aspect 
of  this  attractive  story.  At  this  juncture  Lehrs  brought  me 
the  annual  report  of  the  proceedings  of  the  Konigsberg  German 
Society,  in  which  the  '  Wartburg  contest  *  was  criticised  with 
a  fair  amount  of  detail  by  Lukas.  Here  I  also  found  the, 
original  text.  Although  I  could  utilise  but  little  of  the  real 
setting  for  my  own  purpose,  yet  the  picture  it  gave  me  of  Ger- 
many in  the  Middle  Ages  was  so  suggestive  that  I  found  I  had 
not  previously  had  the  smallest  conception  of  what  it  was  like. 

As  a  sequel  to  the  Wartburg  poem,  I  also  found  in  the  same 
copy  a  critical  study,  '  Lohengrin/  which  gave  in  full  detail , 
the  main  contents  of  that  widespread  epic. 

Thus  a  whole  new  world  was  opened  to  me,  and  though  as  , 
et  I  had  not  found  the  form  in  which  I  might  cope  with 
Lohengrin,  yet  this  image  also  lived  imperishably  within  me. 
When,  therefore,  I  afterwards  made  a  close  acquaintance  with 
the  intricacies  of  this  legend,  I  could  visualise  the  figure  of  the 
hero  with  a  distinctness  equal  to  that  of  my  conception  of 
Tannhauser  at  this  time. 


DESSAUER  —  <  FLIEGEKDER    HOLLANDER'      261 

Under  these  influences  my  longing  for  a  speedy  return  to 
Germany  grew  ever  more  intense,  for  there  I  hoped  to  earn  a 
new  home  for  myself  where  I  could  enjoy  leisure  for  creative 
work.  But  it  was  not  yet  possible  even  to  think  of  occupying 
myself  with  such  grateful  tasks.  The  sordid  necessities  of  life 
still  bound  me  to  Paris.  While  thus  employed,  I  found  an 
opportunity  of  exerting  myself  in  a  way  more  congenial  to  my 
desires.  When  I  was  a  young  man  at  Prague,  I  had  made  the 
acquaintance  of  a  Jewish  musician  and  composer  called  Dessauer 
—  a  man  who  was  not  devoid  of  talent,  who  in  fact  achieved  a 
certain  reputation,  but  was  chiefly  known  among  his  intimates 
on  account  of  his  hypochondria.  This  man,  who  was  now  in 
flourishing  circumstances,  was  so  far  patronised  by  Schlesinger 
that  the  latter  seriously  proposed  to  help  him  to  a  commission 
for  Grand  Opera.  Dessauer  had  come  across  my  poem  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander,  and  now  insisted  that  I  should  draft  a 
similar  plot  for  him,  as  M.  Leon  Pillet's  Vaisseau  Fantome 
had  already  been  given  to  M.  Dietsch,  the  latter's  musical  con- 
ductor, to  set  to  music.  From  this  same  conductor  Dessauer 
obtained  the  promise  of  a  like  commission,  and  he  now  offeredl 
me  two  hundred  francs  to  provide  him  with  a  similar  plot,  and) 
one  congenial  to  his  hypochondriacal  temperament. 

To  meet  this  wish  I  ransacked  my  brain  for  recollections  of 
Hoffmann,  and  quickly  decided  to  work  up  his  Bergwerke  von 
Falun.  The  moulding  of  this  fascinating  and  marvellous  ma- 
terial succeeded  as  admirably  as  I  could  wish.  Dessauer  also 
felt  convinced  that  the  topic  was  worth  his  while  to  set  to 
music.  His  dismay  was  accordingly  all  the  greater  when 
Pillet  rejected  our  plot  on  the  ground  that  the  staging  would 
be  too  difficult,  and  that  the  second  act  especially  would  entail 
insurmountable  obstacles  for  the  ballet,  which  had  to  be  given 
each  time.  In  place  of  this  Dessauer  wished  me  to  compose 
him  an  oratorio  on  '  Mary  Magdalene.'  As  on  the  day  that  he 
expressed  this  wish  he  appeared  to  be  suffering  from  acute 
melancholia,  so  much  so  that  he  declared  he  had  that  morning 
seen  his  own  head  lying  beside  his  bed,  I  thought  well  not  to 
refuse  his  request.  I  asked  him,  therefore,  to  give  me  time, 
and  I  regret  to  say  that  ever  since  that  day  I  have  continued 

to  take  it.      A 

ft* 


262  MY   LIFE 

It  was  amid  such  distractions  as  these  that  this  winter  at 
length  drew  to  an  end,  while  my  prospects  of  getting  to  Germany 
gradually  grew  more  hopeful,  though  with  a  slowness  that 
sorely  tried  my  patience.  I  had  kept  up  a  continuous  corre- 
spondence with  Dresden  respecting  Rienzi,  and  in  the  worthy 
chorus-master  Fischer  I  at  last  found  an  honest  man  who  was 
favourably  disposed  to  me.  He  sent  me  reliable  and  reassuring 
reports  as  to  the  state  of  my  affairs. 

After  receiving  news,  early  in  January,  1842,  of  renewed  de- 

'  lay,  I  at  last  heard  that  by  the  end  of  February  the  work  would 
be  ready  for  performance.  I  was  seriously  uneasy  at  this,  as  I 

j  was  afraid  of  not  being  able  to  accomplish  the  journey  by  that 
date.  But  this  news  also  was  soon  contradicted,  and  the  honest 
Fischer  informed  me  that  my  opera  had  had  to  be  postponed  till 
the  autumn  of  that  year.  I  realised  fully  that  it  would  never 
be  performed  if  I  could  not  be  present  in  person  at  Dresden. 

f  When  eventually  in  March  Count  Redern,  the  director  of  the 
Theatre  Royal  in  Berlin,  told  me  that  my  Fliegender  Hollander 

•  had  been  accepted  for  the  opera  there,  I  thought  I  had  sufficient 
reason  to  return  to  Germany  at  all  costs  as  soon  as  possible. 

I  had  already  had  various  experiences  as  to  the  views  of 
German  managers  on  this  work.  Relying  on  the  plot,  which 
had  pleased  the  manager  of  the  Paris  Opera  so  much,  I  had 
sent  the  libretto  in  the  first  instance  to  my  old  acquaintance 
Ringelhardt,  the  director  of  the  Leipzig  theatre.  But  the  man 
had  cherished  an  undisguised  aversion  for  me  since  my  Liebes- 
verbot.  As  he  could  not  this  time  possibly  object  to  any 
levity  in  my  subject,  he  now  found  fault  with  its  gloomy  sol- 
emnity and  refused  to  accept  it.  As  I  had  met  Councillor 
Kiistner,  at  that  time  manager  of  the  Munich  Court  Theatre, 
when  he  was  making  arrangements  about  La  Heine  de  Chypre 
in  Paris,  I  now  sent  him  the  text  of  the  Dutchman  with  a 
similar  request.  He,  too,  returned  it,  with  the  assurance  that 
it  was  not  suited  to  German  stage  conditions,  or  to  the  taste 
of  the  German  public.  As  he  had  ordered  a  French  libretto 
for  Munich,  I  knew  what  he  meant.  When  the  score  was 
finished,  I  sent  it  to  Meyerbeer  in  Berlin,  with  a  letter  for 
Count  Redern,  and  begged  him,  as  he  had  been  unable  to  help 
me  to  anything  in  Paris,  in  spite  of  his  desire  to  do  so,  to  be 


RETURN  TO  THE  HOME  COUNTRY 


263 


kind  enough  to  use  his  influence  in  Berlin  in  favour  of  my 
composition.  I  was  genuinely  astonished  at  the  truly  prompt  * 
acceptance  of  my  work  two  months  later,  which  was  accom- 
panied by  very  gratifying  assurances  from  the  Count,  and  I 
was  delighted  to  see  in  it  a  proof  of  Meyerbeer's  sincere  and 
energetic  intervention  in  my  favour.  Strange  to  say,  on  my 
return  to  Germany  soon  afterwards,  I  was  destined  to  learn 
that  Count  Redern  had  long  since  retired  from  the  management 
of  the  Berlin  Opera  House,  and  that  Kiistner  of  Munich  had 
already  been  appointed  his  successor:  the  upshot  of  this  was 
that  Count  Redern's  consent,  though  very  courteous,  could  not 
by  any  means  be  taken  seriously,  as  the  realisation  of  it  de- 
pended not  on  him  but  on  his  successor.  What  the  result  was 
remains  to  be  seen. 

A  circumstance  that  eventually  facilitated  my  long-desired 
return  to  Germany,  which  was  now  justified  by  my  good  pros- 
pects, was  the  tardily  awakened  interest  taken  in  my  position 
by  the  wealthy  members  of  my  family.  If  Didot  had  had 
reasons  of  his  own  for  applying  to  the  Minister  Villemain  for  , 
support  for  Lehrs,  so  also  Avenarius,  my  brother-in-law  in 
Paris,  when  he  heard  how  I  was  struggling  against  poverty, 
one  day  took  it  into  his  head  to  surprise  me  with  some  quite 
unexpected  help  secured  by  his  appeal  to  my  sister  Louisa. 
On  26th  December  of  the  fast-waning  year  1841  I  went  home 
to  Minna  carrying  a  goose  under  my  arm,  and  in  the  beak  o 
the  bird  we  found  a  five-hundred-franc  note.  This  note  had 
been  given  me  by  Avenarius  as  the  result  of  a  request  on  my 
behalf  made  by  my  sister  Louisa  to  a  friend  of  hers,  a  wealthy 
merchant  named  Schletter.  This  welcome  addition  to  our 
extreniely^jstraitened  resources  might  not  in  itself  have  been 
sufficient  to  put  me~in^an~5xcSedingly  good-humour,  had  I  not 
clearly  seen  in  it  the  prospect  of  escaping  altogether  from  my 
position  in  Paris.  As  the  leading  German  managers  had  now 
consented  to  the  performance  of  two  of  my  compositions,  I 
thought  I  might  seriously  approach  my  brother-in-law,  Friedrich 
Brockhaus,  who  had  repulsed  me  the  year  before  when  I  applied 
to  him  in  great  distress,  on  the  ground  that  he  '  disapproved  of 
my  profession.'  This  time  I  might  be  more  successful  in  secur- 
ing the  wherewithal  for  my  return.  I  was  not  mistaken,  and 


264:  MY   LIFE 

when  the  time  came  I  was  supplied  from  this  source  with"  tHe 
necessary  travelling  expenses. 

With  these  prospects,  and  my  position  thus  improved,  I 
found  myself  spending  the  second  half  of  the  winter  1841-42  in 
high  spirits,  and  affording  constant  entertainment  to  the  small 
circle  of  friends  which  my  relationship  to  Avenarius  had  created 
around  me.  Minna  and  I  frequently  spent  our  evenings  with 
this  family  and  others,  amongst  whom  I  have  pleasant  recol- 
lections of  a  certain  Herr  Kiihne,  the  head  of  a  private  school, 
and  his  wife.  I  contributed  so  greatly  to  the  success  of  their 
little  soirees,  and  was  always  so  willjjjgJ^Jjaaproyis^jlaaces 
on  the  piano  for  them  to  dance  to,  that  I  soon  ran  the  risk  of 
enjoying  an  almost  burdensome  popularity. 

At  length  the  hour  struck  for  my  deliverance ;  the  day  came 
on  which,  as  I  devoutly  hoped,  I  might  turn  my  back  on  Paris 
for  ever.  It  was  the  7th  of  April,  and  Paris  was  already  gay 
with  the  first  luxuriant  buddings  of  spring.  In  front  of  our 
windows,  which  all  the  winter  had  looked  upon  a  bleak  and 
desolate  garden,  the  trees  were  burgeoning,  and  the  birds  sang. 
Our  emotion  at  parting  from  our  dear  friends  Anders,  Lehrs, 
and  Kietz,  however,  was  great,  almost  overwhelming.  The 
first  seemed  already  doomed  to  an  early  death,  for  his  health 
was  exceedingly  bad,  and  he  was  advanced  in  years.  About 
Lehrs'  condition,  as  I  have  already  said,  there  could  no  longer 
be  any  doubt,  and  it  was  dreadful,  after  so  short  an  experience 
as  the  two  and  a  half  years  which  I  had  spent  in  Paris,  to  see 
the  ravages  that  want  had  wrought  among  good,  noble,  and 
sometimes  even  distinguished  men.  Kietz,  for  whose  future 
I  was  concerned,  less  on  grounds  of  health  than  of  morals, 
touched  our  hearts  once  more  by  his  boundless  and  almost 
childlike  good-nature.  Fancying,  for  instance,  that  I  might 
not  have  enough  money  for  the  journey,  he  forced  me,  in  spite 
of  all  resistance,  to  accept  another  five-franc  piece,  which  was 
about  all  that  remained  of  his  own  fortune  at  the  moment: 
he  also  stuffed  a  packet  of  good  French  snuff  for  me  into  the 
pocket  of  the  coach,  in  which  we  at  last  rumbled  through  the 
boulevards  to  the  barriers,  which  we  passed  but  were  unable 
to  see  this  time,  because  our  eyes  were  blinded  with  tears. 


PAKT   II 
1842-1850 

THE  journey  from  Paris  to  Dresden  at  that  time  took  five  days 
and  nights.  On  the  German  frontier,  near  Forbach,  we  met 
with  stormy  weather  and  snow,  a  greeting  which  seemed  in- 
hospitable after  the  spring  we  had  already  enjoyed  in  Paris. 
And,  indeed,  as  we  continued  our  journey  through  our  native 
land  once  more,  we  found  much  to  dishearten  us,  and  I  could 
not  help  thinking  that  the  Frenchmen  who  on  leaving  Germany 
breathed  more  freely  on  reaching  French  soil,  and  unbuttoned 
their  coats,  as  though  passing  from  winter  into  summer,  were 
not  so  very  foolish  after  all,  seeing  that  we,  for  our  part,  were 
now  compelled  to  seek  protection  against  this  conspicuous  change 
of  temperature  by  being  very  careful  to  put  on  sufficient  cloth- 
ing. The  unkindness  of  the  elements  became  perfect  torture 
when,  later  on,  between  Frankfort  and  Leipzig,  we  were  swept 
into  the  stream  of  visitors  to  the  Great  Easter  Fair. 

The  pressure  on  the  mail-coaches  was  so  great,  that  for  two 
days  and  a  night,  amid  ceaseless  storm,  snow  and  rain,  we 
were  continually  changing  from  one  wretched  '  substitute '  to 
another,  thus  turning  our  journey  into  an  adventure  of  almost 
the  same  type  as  our  former  voyage  at  sea. 

One  solitary  flash  of  brightness  was  afforded  by  our  view  of 
the  Wartburg,  which  we  passed  during  the  only  sunlit  hour 
of  this  journey.  The  sight  of  this  mountain  fastness,  which, 
from  the  Fulda  side,  is  clearly  visible  for  a  long  time,  affected 
me  deeply.  A  neighbouring  ridge  further  on  I  at  once  chris- 
tened the  Hb'rselberg,  and  as  we  drove  through  the  valley,  pic- 
tured to  myself  the  scenery  for  the  third  act  of  my  Tannhauser. 
This  scene  remained  so  vividly  in  my  mind,  that  long  after- 
wards I  was  able  to  give  Desplechin,  the  Parisian  scene-painter, 
exact  details  when  he  was  working  out  the  scenery  under  my 


266  MY   LIFE 

direction.  If  I  had  already  been  impressed  by  the  signifi- 
cance of  the  fact  that  my  first  journey  through  the  German 
Khine  district,  so  famous  in  legend,  should  have  been  made 
on  my  way  home  from  Paris,  it  seemed  an  even  more  omi- 
nous coincidence  that  my  first  sight  of  Wartburg,  which  was 
so  rich  in  historical  and  mythical  associations,  should  come 
just  at  this  moment.  The  view  so  warmed  my  heart  against 
wind  and  weather,  Jews  and  the  Leipzig  Fair,  that  in  the 
end  I  arrived,  on  12th  April,  1842,  safe  and  sound,  with  my 
poor,  battered,  half-frozen  wife,  in  that  selfsame  city  of  Dres- 
den which  I  had  last  seen  on  the  occasion  of  my  sad  separa- 
tion from  my  Minna,  and  my  departure  for  my  northern  place 
of  exile. 

We  put  up  at  the  l  Stadt  Gotha '  inn.  The  city,  in  which 
such  momentous  years  of  my  childhood  and  boyhood  had  been 
spent,  seemed  cold  and  dead  beneath  the  influences  of  the  wild, 
gloomy  weather.  Indeed,  everything  there  that  could  remind 
me  of  my  youth  seemed  dead.  No  hospitable  house  received 
us.  We  found  my  wife's  parents  living  in  cramped  and  dingy 
lodgings  in  very  straitened  circumstances,  and  were  obliged 
at  once  to  look  about  for  a  small  abode  for  ourselves.  This  we 
found  in  the  Topfergasse  for  twenty-one  marks  a  month.  After 
paying  the  necessary  business  visits  in  connection  with  Rlcnzi, 
and  making  arrangements  for  Minna  during  my  brief  absence, 
I  set  out  on  15th  April  direct  for  Leipzig,  where  I  saw  my 
mother  and  family  for  the  first  time  in  six  years. 

During  this  period,  which  had  been  so  eventful  for  my  own 
life,  my  mother  had  undergone  a  great  change  in  her  domestic 
position  through  the  death  of  Rosalie.  She  was  living  in  a 
pleasant  roomy  flat  near  the  Brockhaus  family,  where  she  was 
free  from  all  those  household  cares  to  which,  owing  to  her 
large  family,  she  had  devoted  so  many  years  of  anxious  thought. 
Her  bustling  energy,  which  had  almost  amounted  to  hardness, 
had  entirely  given  place  to  a  natural  cheerfulness  and  interest 
in  the  family  prosperity  of  her  married  daughters.  For  the 
blissful  calm  of  this  happy  old  age  she  was  mainly  indebted  to 
the  affectionate  care  of  her  son-in-law,  Friedrich  Brockhaus, 
to  whom  I  expressed  my  heartfelt  thanks  for  his  goodness. 
She  was  exceedingly  astonished  and  pleased  to  see  me  unex- 


IN   BERLIN   WITH   MEYERBEER  267 

pectedly  enter  her  room.  Any  bitterness  that  ever  existed 
between  us  had  utterly  vanished,  and  her  only  complaint  was 
that  she  could  not  put  me  up  in  her  house,  instead  of  my 
brother  Julius,  the  unfortunate  goldsmith,  who  had  none  of 
the  qualities  that  could  make  him  a  suitable  companion  for  her. 
She  was  full  of  hope  for  the  success  of  my  undertaking,  and 
felt  this  confidence  strengthened  by  the  favourable  prophecy 
which  our  dear  _Rosalie  had  made  about  me  shortly  before  her 
sad  death. 

For  the  present,  however,  I  only  stayed  a  few  days  in  Leipzig, 
as  I  had  first  to  visit  Berlin  in  order  to  make  definite  arrange- 
ments with  Count  Redern  for  the  performance  of  the  Fliegender 
Hollander.  As  I  have  already  observed,  I  was  here  at  once 
destined  to  learn  that  the  Count  was  on  the  point  of  retiring 
from  the  directorship,  and  he  accordingly  referred  me  for  all 
further  decisions  to  the  new  director,  Kiistner,  \vho  had  not 
yet  arrived  in  Berlin.  I  now  suddenly  realised  what  this  strange 
circumstance  meant,  and  knew  that,  so  far  as  the  Berlin  negoti- 
ations went,  I  might  as  well  have  remained  in  Paris.  This 
impression  was  in  the  main  confirmed  by  a  visit  to  Meyerbeer, 
who,  I  found,  regarded  my  coming  to  Berlin  as  over  hasty. 
Nevertheless,  he  behaved  in  a  kind  and  friendly  manner,  only 
regretting  that  he  was  just  on  the  point  of  ( going  away,'  a 
state  in  which  I  always  found  him  whenever  I  visited  him 
again  in  Berlin. 

Mendelssohn  was  also  in  the  capital  about  this  time,  having 
been  appointed  one  of  the  General  Musical  Directors  to  the 
King  of  Prussia.  I  also  sought  him  out,  having  been  previ- 
ously introduced  to  him  in  Leipzig.  He  informed  me  that  he 
did  not  believe  his  work  would  prosper  in  Berlin,  and  that  he 
would  rather  go  back  to  Leipzig.  I  made  no  inquiry  about 
the  fate  of  the  score  of  my  great  symphony  performed  at 
Leipzig  in  earlier  days,  which  I  had  more  or  less  forced  upon 
him  so  many  years  ago.  On  the  other  hand,  he  did  not  betray 
to  me  any  signs  of  remembering  that  strange  offering.  In 
the  midst  of  the  lavish  comforts  of  his  home  he  struck  me  as 
cold,  yet  it  was  not  so  much  that  he  repelled  me  as  that  I 
recoiled  from  him.  I  also  paid  a  visit  to  Rellstab,  to  whom 
I  had  a  letter  of  introduction  from  his  trusty  publisher,  my 


268      .  MY   LIFE 

brother-in-law  Brockhaus.  Here  it  was  not  so  much  smug 
ease  that  I  encountered ;  I  doubtless  felt  repulsed  more  by  the 
fact  that  he  showed  no  inclination  whatever  to  interest  himself 
in  my  affairs. 

I  grew  very  low  spirited  in  Berlin.  I  could  almost  have 
wished  Commissioner  Cerf  back  again.  Miserable  as  had  been 
the  time  I  had  spent  here  years  before,  I  had  then,  at  any 
rate,  met  one  man,  who,  for  all  the  bluntness  of  his  exterior, 
had  treated  me  with  true  friendliness  and  consideration.  In 
vain  did  I  try  to  call  to  mind  the  Berlin  through  whose  streets 
I  had  walked,  with  all  the  ardour  of  youth,  by  the  side  of  Laube. 
After  my  acquaintance  with  London,  and  still  more  with  Paris, 
this  city,  with  its  sordid  spaces  and  pretensions  to  greatness, 
depressed _me  deeply,  and  I  breathed  a  hope  that,  should  no 
luck  crown  my  life,  it  might  at  least  be  spent  in  Paris  rather 
than  in  Berlin. 

On  my  return  from  this  wholly  fruitless  expedition,  I  first 
went  to  Leipzig  for  a  few  days,  where,  on  this  occasion,  I 
stayed  with  my  brother-in-law,  Hermann  Brockhaus,  who  was 
now  Professor  of  Oriental  Languages  at  the  University.  His 
family  had  been  increased  by  the  birth  of  two  daughters,  and 
the  atmosphere  of  unruffled  content,  illuminated  by  mental 
activity  and  a  quiet  but  vivid  interest  in  all  things  relating 
to  the  higher  aspects  of  life,  greatly  moved  my  homeless  and 
vagabond  soul.  One  evening,  after  my  sister  had  seen  to  her 
children,  whom  she  had  brought  up  very  well,  and  had  sent 
them  with  gentle  words  to  bed,  we  gathered  in  the  large  richly 
stocked  library  for  our  evening  meal  and  a  long  confidential 
chat.  Here  I  broke  out  into_a  jvJolent^  fit  of  weeping,  and  it 
seemed  as  though  the  tender  sister,  who 'five  years  before  had 
known  me  during  the  bitterest  straits  of  my  early  married  life 
in  Dresden,  now  really  understood  me.  At  the  express  sug- 
gestion of  my  brother-in-law  Hermann,  my  family  tendered  me 
a  loan,  to  help  me  to  tide  over  the  time  of  waiting  for  the  per- 
formance of  my  Rienzi  in  Dresden.  This,  they  said,  they  re- 
garded merely  as  a  duty,  and  assured  me  that  I  need  have  no 
hesitation  whatever  in  accepting  it.  It  consisted  of  a  sum  of  six 
hundred  marks,  which  was  to  be  paid  me  in  monthly  instal- 
ments for  six  months.  As  I  had  no  prospect  of  being  able 


RETURN   TO   DRESDEN  269 

to  rely  on  any  other  source  of  income,  there  was  every  chance 
of  Minna's  talent  for  management  being  put  severely  to  the 
test,  if  this  were  to  carry  us  through;  it  could  be  done,  how- 
ever, and  I  was  able  to  return  to  Dresden  with  a  great  sense  of 
relief. 

While  I  was  staying  with  my  relatives  I  played  and  sang 
them  the  Fliegender  Hollander  for  the  first  time  connectedly, 
and  seemed  to  arouse  considerable  interest  by  my  perform- 
ance, for  when,  later  on,  my  sister  Louisa  heard  the  opera  in 
Dresden,  she  complained  that  much  of  the  effect  previously 
produced  by  my  rendering  did  not  come  back  to  her.  I  also 
sought  out  my  old  friend  Apel  again.  The  poor  man  had 
gone  stone  blind,  but  he  astonished  me  by  his  cheeriness  and 
contentment,  and  thereby  once  and  for  all  deprived  me  of  any 
reason  for  pitying  him.  As  he  declared  that  he  knew  the  blue 
coat  I  was  wearing  very  well,  though  it  was  really  a  brown  one, 
I  thought  it  best  not  to  argue  the  point,  and  I  left  Leipzig 
in  a  state  of  wonder  at  finding  every  one  there  so  happy  and 
contented. 

When  I  reached  Dresden,  on  26th  April,  I  found  occasion 
to  grapple  more  vigorously  with  my  lot.  Here  I  was  enlivened 
by  closer  intercourse  with  the  people  on  whom  I  had  to  rely 
for  a  successful  production  of  Rienzi.  It  is  true  that  the  re- 
sults of  my  interviews  with  Liittichau,  the  general  manager, 
and  Reissiger,  the  musical  conductor,  left  me  cold  and  incredu- 
lous. Both  were  sincerely  astonished  at  my  arrival  in  Dresden ; 
and  the  same  might  even  be  said  of  my  frequent  correspondent 
and  patron,  Hofrath  Winkler,  who  also  would  have  preferred  my 
remaining  in  Paris.  But,  as  has  been  my  constant  experience 
both  before  and  since,  help  and  encouragement  have  always 
come  to  me  from  humbler  and  never  from  the  more  exalted 
ranks  of  life. 

So  in  this  case,  too,  I  met  my  first  agreeable  sensation 
in  the  overwhelmingly  cordial  reception  I  received  from  the 
old  chorus-master,  Wilhelm  Fischer.  I  had  had  no  previous 
acquaintance  with  him,  yet  he  was  the  only  person  who  had 
taken  the  trouble  to  read  my  score  carefully,  and  had  not 
only  conceived  serious  hopes  for  the  success  of  my  opera,  but 
had  worked  energetically  to  secure  its  being  accepted  and 


270  MY   LIFE 


practised.  The  moment  I  entered  his  room  and  told  him  my 
name,  he  rushed  to  embrace  me  with  a  loud  cry,  and  in  a  second 
I  was  translated  to  an  atmosphere  of  hope.  Besides  this  man, 
I  met  in  the  actor  Ferdinand  Heine  and  his  family  another 
sure  foundation  for  hearty  and,  indeed,  deep-rooted  friendship. 
It  is  true  that  I  had  known  him  from  childhood,  for  at  that 
time  he  was  one  of  the  few  young  people  whom  my  stepfather 
Geyer  liked  to  see  about  him.  In  addition  to  a  fairly  decided 
talent  for  drawing,  it  was  chiefly  his  pleasant  social  gifts  that 
had  won  him  an  entrance  into  our  more  intimate  family  circle. 
As  he  was  very  small  and  slight,  my  stepfather  nicknamed 
him  DavidcAen,  and  under  this  appellation  he  used  to  take 
part  with  great  affability  and  good-humour  in  our  little  festivi- 
ties, and  above  all  in  our  friendly  excursions  into  the  neigh- 
bouring country,  in  which,  as  I  mentioned  in  its  place,  even 
Carl  Maria  von  Weber  used  to  join.  Belonging  to  the  good 
old  school,  he  had  become  a  useful,  if  not  prominent,  member 
of  the  Dresden  stage.  He  possessed  all  the  knowledge  and 
qualities  for  a  good  stage  manager,  but  never  succeeded  in 
inducing  the  committee  to  give  him  that  appointment.  It 
was  only  as  a  designer  of  costumes  that  he  found  further  scope 
for  his  talents,  and  in  this  capacity  he  was  included  in  the 
consultations  over  the  staging  of  Rienzi. 

Thus  it  came  about  that  he  had  the  opportunity  of  busying 
himself  with  the  work  of  a  member,  now  grown  to  man's  estate, 
of  the  very  family  with  whom  he  had  spent  such  pleasant  days 
in  his  youth.  He  greeted  me  at  once  as  a  child  of  the  house, 
and  we  two  homeless  creatures  found  in  our  memories  of  this 
long-lost  home  the  first  common  basis  to  our  friendship.  We 
generally  spent  our  evenings  with  old  Fischer  at  Heine's,  where, 
amid  hopeful  conversation,  we  regaled  ourselves  on  potatoes 
and  herrings,  of  which  the  meal  chiefly  consisted.  Schroder- 
Devrient  was  away  on  a  holiday;  Tichatschek,  who  was  also 
on  the  point  of  going  away,  I  had  just  time  to  see,  and  with 
him  I  went  quickly  through  a  part  of  his  role  in  Rienzi.  His 
brisk  and  lively  nature,  his  glorious  voice  and  great  musical 
talent,  gave  special  weight  to  his  encouraging  assurance  that 
he  delighted  in  the  role  of  Rienzi.  Heine  also  told  me  that  the 
mere  prospect  of  having  many  new  costumes,  and  especially 


PREPARATION   TOE   RIENZI  271 

new  silver  armour,  had  inspired  Tichatschek  with  the  liveliest 
desire  to  play  this  part,  so  that  I  might  rely  on  him  under  any 
circumstances.  Thus  I  could  at  once  give  closer  attention  to 
the  preparations  for  practice,  which  was  fixed  to  begin  in  the 
late  summer,  after  the  principal  singers  had  returned  from 
their  holiday. 

I  had  to  make  special  efforts  to  pacify  my  friend  Fischer  by 
my  readiness  to  abbreviate  the  score,  which  was  excessively 
lengthy.  His  intentions  in  the  matter  were  so  honest  that  I 
gladly  sat  down  with  him  to  the  wearisome  task.  I  played  and 
sang  my  score  to  the  astonished  man  on  an  old  grand  piano  in  the 
rehearsing-room  of  the  Court  Theatre,  with  such  frantic  vigour 
that,  although  he  did  not  mind  if  the  instrument  came  to  grief, 
he  grew  concerned  about  my  chest.  Finally,  amid  hearty 
laughter,  he  ceased  to  argue  about  cutting  down  passages,  as 
precisely  where  he  thought  something  might  be  omitted  I  proved  . 
to  him  with  headlong  eloquence  that  it  was  precisely  here  that 
the  main  point  lay.  He  plunged  with  me  head  over  heels  into  ' 
the  vast  chaos  of  sound,  against  which  he  could  raise  no  objec- 
tion, beyond  the  testimony  of  his  watch,  whose  correctness  I 
also  ended  by  disputing.  As  sops  I  light-heartedly  flung  him 
the  big  pantomime  and  most  of  the  ballet  in  the  second  act, 
whereby  I  reckoned  we  might  save  a  whole  half-hour.  Thus, 
thank  goodness,  the  whole  monster  was  at  last  handed  over  to 
the  clerks  to  make  a  fair  copy  of,  and  the  rest  was  left  for  time 
to  accomplish. 

We  next  discussed  what  we  should  do  in  che  summer,  and 
I  decided  upon  a  stay  of  several  months  at  Toplitz,  the  scene 
of  my  first  youthful  flights,  whose  fine  air  and  baths,  I  hoped, 
would  also  benefit  Minna^s  health.  But  before  we  could  carry 
out  this  intention  I  had  to  pay  several  more  visits  to  Leipzig 
to  settle  the  fate  of  my  Dutchman.  On  5th  May  I  proceeded 
thither  to  have  an  interview  with  Kiistner,  the  new  director 
of  the  Berlin  Opera,  who  I  had  been  told  had  just  arrived  there. 
He  was  now  placed  in  the  awkward  position  of  being  about 
to  produce  in  Berlin  the  very  opera  which  he  had  before  de- 
clined in  Munich,  as  it  had  been  accepted  by  his  predecessor 
in  office.  He  promised  me  to  consider  what  steps  he  would 
take  in  this  predicament.  In  order  to  learn  the  result  of 


MY  LIFE 

Kiistner's  deliberations,  I  determined,  on  2nd  June,  to  seek 
him  out,  and  this  time  in  Berlin  itself.  But  at  Leipzig  I  found 
a  letter  in  which  he  begged  me  to  wait  patiently  a  little  longer 
for  his  final  verdict.  I  took  advantage  of  being  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Halle  to  pay  a  visit  to  my  eldest  brother  Albert. 
I  was  very  much  grieved  and  depressed  to  find  the  poor  fellow, 
whom  I  must  give  the  credit  of  having  the  greatest  perseverance 
and  a  quite  remarkable  talent  for  dramatic  song,  living  in  the 
unworthy  and  mean  circumstances  which  the  Halle  Theatre 
offered  to  him  and  his  family.  The  realisation  of  conditions 
into  which  I  myself  had  once  nearly  sunk  now  filled  me  with 
indescribable  abhorrence.  Still  more  harrowing  was  it  to  hear 
my  brother  speak  of  this  state  in  tones  which  showed,  alas,  only 
too  plainly,  the  hopeless  submission  with  which  he  had  already 
resigned  himself  to  its  horrors.  The  only  consolation  I  could 
find  was  the  personality  and  childlike  nature  of  his  step- 
daughter Johanna,  who  was  then  fifteen,  and  who  sang  me 
Spohr's  Rose,  wie  hist  du  so  schon  with  great  expression  and 
in  a  voice  of  an  extraordinarily  beautiful  quality. 

Then  I  returned  to  Dresden,  and  at  last,  in  wonderful 
weather,  undertook  the  pleasant  journey  to  Toplitz  with  Minna 
and  one  of  her  sisters,  reaching  that  place  on  9th  June,  where 
we  took  up  our  quarters  at  a  second-class  inn,  the  Eiche,  at 
Schonau.  Here  we  were  soon  joined  by  my  mother,  who  paid 
her  usual  yearly  visit  to  the  warm  baths  all  the  more  gladly 
this  time  because  she  knew  she  would  find  me  there.  If  she 
had  before  had  any  prejudice  against  Minna  because  of  my 
premature  marriage  to  her,  a  closer  acquaintance  with  her 
domestic  gifts  soon  changed  it  into  respect,  and  she  quickly 
learned  to  love  the  partner  of  my  doleful  days  in  Paris.  Al- 
though my  mother's  vagaries  demanded  no  small  considera- 
tion, yet  what  particularly  delighted  me  about  her  was  the 
astonishing  vivacity  of  her  almost  childlike  imagination,  a 
faculty  she  retained  to  such  a  degree  that  one  morning  she 
complained  that  my  relation  of  the  Tannhduser  legend  on  the 
previous  evening  had  given  her  a  whole  night  of  pleasant  but 
most  tiring  sleeplessness. 

By  dint  of  appealing  letters  to  Schletter,  a  wealthy  patron 
of  art  in  Leipzig,  I  managed  to  do  something  for  Kietz,  who, 


DRAFT   OF   THE   'VENUSBERG'  273 

had  remained  behind  in  misery  in  Paris,  and  also  to  provide 
Minna  with  medical  treatment.  I  also  succeeded  to  a  certain 
extent  in  ameliorating  my  own  woeful  financial  position. 
Scarcely  were  these  tasks  accomplished,  when  I  started  off  in 
my  old  boyish  way  on  a  ramble  of  several  days  on  foot  through 
the  Bohemian  mountains,  in  order  that  I  might  mentally  work 
out  my  plan  of  the  *  Venusberg '  amid  the  pleasant  associations 
of  such  a  trip.  Here  I  took  the  fancy  of  engaging  quarters 
in  Aussig  on  the  romantic  Schreckenstein,  where  for  several 
days  I  occupied  the  little  public  room,  in  which  straw  was 
laid  down  for  me  to  sleep  on  at  night.  I  found  recreation  in 
daily  ascents  of  the  Wostrai,  the  highest  peak  in  the  neighbour- 
hood, and  so  keenly  did  the  fantastic  solitude  quicken  my 
youthful  spirit,  that  I  clambered  about  the  ruins  of  the 
Schreckenstein  the  whole  of  one  moonlit  night,  wrapped  only 
in  a  blanket,  in  order  myself  to  provide  the  ghost  that  was 
lacking,  and  delighted  myself  with  the  hope  of  scaring  some 
passing  wayfarer. 

Here  I  drew  up  in  my  pocket-book  the  detailed  plan  of  a 
three-act  opera  on  the  l  Venusberg,'  and  subsequently  carried 
out  the  composition  of  this  work  in  strict  accordance  with  the 
sketch  I  then  made. 

One  day,  when  climbing  the  Wostrai,  I  was  astonished,  on 
turning  the  corner  of  a  valley,  to  hear  a  merry  dance  tune 
whistled  by  a  goatherd  perched  up  on  a  crag.  I  seemed 
immediately  to  stand  among  the  chorus  of  pilgrims  filing  past 
the  goatherd  in  the  valley;  but  I  could  not  afterwards  recall 
the  goatherd's  tune,  so  I  was  obliged  to  help  myself  out  of  the 
matter  in  the  usual  way. 

Enriched  by  these  spoils,  I  returned  to  Toplitz  in  a  wonder- 
fully cheerful  frame  of  mind  and  robust  health,  but  on  receiving 
the  interesting  news  that  Tichatschek  and  Schroder-Devrient 
were  on  the  point  of  returning,  I  was  impelled  to  set  off  once 
more  for  Dresden.  I  took  this  step,  not  so  much  to  avoid 
missing  any  of  the  early  rehearsals  of  Rienzi,  as  because  I 
wanted  to  prevent  the  management  replacing  it  by  something 
else.  I  left  Minna  for  a  time  with  my  mother,  and  reached 
Dresden  on  18th  July. 

I  hired  a  small  lodging  in  a  queer  house,  since  pulled  down, 


274  MY   LIFE 

facing  the  Maximilian  Avenue,  and  entered  into  a  fairly  lively 
intercourse  with  our  operatic  stars  who  had  just  returned. 
My  old  enthusiasm  for  Schrb'der-Devrient  revived  when  I  saw 
her  again  more  frequently  in  opera.  Strange  was  the  effect 
produced  upon  me  when  I  heard  her  for  the  first  time  in 
Gretry's  Blaubart,  for  I  could  not  help  remembering  that  this 
was  the  first  opera  I  had  ever  seen.  I  had  been  taken  to  it 
as  a  boy  of  five  (also  in  Dresden),  and  I  still  retained  my 
wondrous  first  impressions  of  it.  All  my  earliest  childish 
memories  were  revived,  and  I  recollected  how  frequently  and 
with  what  emphasis  I  had  myself  sung  Bluebeard's  song: 
Ha,  die  Falsche!  Die  Thiire  off  en!  to  the  amusement  of  the 
whole  house,  with  a  paper  helmet  of  my  own  making  on  my 
head.  My  friend  Heine  still  remembered  it  well. 

In  other  respects  the  operatic  performances  were  not  such 
as  to  impress  me  very  favourably:  I  particularly  missed  the 
rolling  sound  of  the  fully  equipped  Parisian  orchestra  of  string 
instruments.  I  also  noticed  that,  when  opening  the  fine  new 
theatre,  they  had  quite  forgotten  to  increase  the  number  of 
these  instruments  in  proportion  to  the  enlarged  space.  In 
this,  as  well  as  in  the  general  equipment  of  the  stage,  which 
was  materially  deficient  in  many  respects,  I  was  impressed  by 
the  sense  of  a  certain  meanness  about  theatrical  enterprise  in 
Germany,  which  became  most  noticeable  when  reproductions 
were  given,  often  with  wretched  translations  of  the  text,  of  the 
Paris  opera  repertoire.  If  even  in  Paris  my  dissatisfaction 
with  this  treatment  of  opera  had  been  great,  the  feeling  which 
once  drove  me  thither  from  the  German  theatres  now  returned 
with  redoubled  energy.  I  actually  felt  degraded  again,  and 
nourished  within  my  breast  a  contempt  so  deep  that  for  a  time 
I  could  hardly  endure  the  thought  of  signing  a  lasting  contract, 
even  with  one  of  the  most  up-to-date  of  German  opera  houses, 
but  sadly  wondered  what  steps  I  could  take  to  hold  my  ground 
between  disgust  and  desire  in  this  strange  world. 

Nothing  but  the  sympathy  inspired  by  communion  with 
persons  endowed  with  exceptional  gifts  enabled  me  to  triumph 
over  my  scruples.  This  statement  applies  above  all  to  my 
great  ideal,  Schroder-Devrient,  in  whose  artistic  triumphs  it 
had  once  been  my  most  burning  desire  to  be  associated.  It  is 


SCHKODER-DEVRIENT  275 

true  that  many  years  had  elapsed  since  my  first  youthful  im- 
pressions of  her  were  formed.  As  regards  her  looks,  the  ver- 
dict which,  in  the  following  winter,  was  sent  to  Paris  by 
Berlioz  during  his  stay  in  Dresden,  was  so  far  correct  that  her 
somewhat  '  maternal '  stoutness  was  unsuited  to  youthful  parts, 
especially  in  male  attire,  which,  as  in  Rienzi,  made  too  great 
a  demand  upon  the  imagination.  Her  voice,  which  in  point 
of  quality  had  never  been  an  exceptionally  good  medium 
for  song,  often  landed  her  in  difficulties,  and  in  particular 
she  was  forced,  when  singing,  to  drag  the  time  a  little  all 
through.  But  her  achievements  were  less  hampered  now  by 
these  material  hindrances  than  by  the  fact  that  her  reper^- 
toire  consisted  of  a  limited  number  of  leading  parts,  which 
she  had  sung  so  frequently  that  a  certain  monotony  in  the 
conscious  calculation  of  effect  often  developed  into  a  manner- 
ism which,  from  her  tendency  to  exaggeration,  was  at  times 
almost  painful. 

Although  these  defects  could  not  escape  me,  yet  I,  more 
than  any  one,  was  especially  qualified  to  overlook  such  minor 
weaknesses,  and  realise  with  enthusiasm  the  incomparable 
greatness  of  her  performances.  Indeed,  it  only  needed  the 
stimulus  of  excitement,  which  this  actress's  exceptionally  event- 
ful life  still  procured,  fully  to  restore  the  creative  power  of 
her  prime,  a  fact  of  which  I  was  subsequently  to  receive  strik- 
ing demonstrations.  But  I  was  seriously  troubled  and  de- 
pressed at  seeing  how  strong  was  the  disintegrating  effect  of 
theatrical  life  upon  the  character  of  this  singer,  who  had 
originally  been  endowed  with  such  great  and  noble  qualities. 
From  the  very  mouth  through  which  the  great  actress's  in- 
spired musical  utterances  reached  me,  I  was  compelled  to  hear 
at  other  times  very  similar  language  to  that  in  which,  with 
but  few  exceptions,  nearly  all  heroines  of  the  stage  indulge. 
The  possession  of  a  naturally  fine  voice,  or  even  mere  physical 
advantages,  which  might  place  her  rivals  on  the  same  footing 
as  herself  in  public  favour,  was  more  than  she  could  endure ; 
and  so  far  was  she  from  acquiring  the  dignified  resignation 
worthy  of  a  great  artist,  that  her  jealousy  increased  to  a  painful 
extent  as  years  went  on.  I  noticed  this  all  the  more  because 
I  had  reason  to  suffer  from  it.  A  fact  which  caused  me  even 


276  MY   LIFE 

greater  trouble,  however,  was  that  she  did  not  grasp  music 
easily,  and  the  study  of  a  new  part  involved  difficulties  which 
meant  many  a  painful  hour  for  the  composer  who  had  to  make 
her  master  his  work.  Her  difficulty  in  learning  new  parts,  and 
particularly  that  of  Adriano  in  Rienzi,  entailed  disappoint- 
ments for  her  which  caused  me  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 

If,  in  her  case,  I  had  to  handle  a  great  and  sensitive  nature 
very  tenderly,  I  had,  on  the  other  hand,  a  very  easy  task  with 
Tichatschek,  with  his  childish  limitations  and  superficial,  but 
exceptionally  brilliant,  talents.  He  did  not  trouble  to  learn 
his  parts  by  heart,  as  he  was  so  musical  that  he  could  sing  the 
most  difficult  music  at  sight,  and  thought  all  further  study 
needless,  whereas  with  most  other  singers  the  work  consisted 
in  mastering  the  score.  Hence,  if  he  sang  through  a  part  at 
rehearsals  often  enough  to  impress  it  on  his  memory,  the  rest, 
that  is  to  say,  everything  pertaining  to  vocal  art  and  dra- 
matic delivery,  would  follow  naturally.  In  this  way  he  picked 
up  any  clerical  errors  there  might  be  in  the  libretto,  and  that 
with  such  incorrigible  pertinacity,  that  he  uttered  the  wrong 
words  with  just  the  same  expression  as  if  they  were  correct. 
He  waved  aside  good-humouredly  any  expostulations  or  hints 
as  to  the  sense  with  the  remark,  '  Ah !  that  will  be  all  right 
soon.'  And,  in  fact,  I  very  soon  resigned  myself  and  quite 
gave  up  trying  to  get  the  singer  to  use  his  intelligence  in  the 
interpretation  of  the  part  of  the  hero,  for  which  I  was  very 
agreeably  compensated  by  the  light-hearted  enthusiasm  with 
which  he  flung  himself  into  his  congenial  role,  and  the  irresist- 
ible effect  of  his  brilliant  voice. 

With  the  exception  of  these  two  actors  who  played  the  lead- 
ing parts,  I  had  only  very  moderate  material  at  my  disposal. 
But  there  was  plenty  of  goodwill,  and  I  had  recourse  to  an 
ingenious  device  to  induce  Reissiger  the  conductor  to  hold 
frequent  piano  rehearsals.  He  had  complained  to  me  of  the 
difficulty  he  had  always  found  in  securing  a  well-written 
libretto,  and  thought  it  was  very  sensible  of  me  to  have  acquired 
the  habit  of  writing  my  own.  In  his  youth  he  had  unfortu- 
nately neglected  to  do  this  for  himself,  and  yet  this  was  all  he 
lacked  to  make  a  successful  dramatic  composer.  I  feel  bound 
to  confess  that  he  possessed  '  a  good  deal  of  melody ' ;  but 


TEXT    OF    THE    <HOHE    BEAUT'  277 

this,  he  added,  did  not  seem  sufficient  to  inspire  the  singers 
with  the  requisite  enthusiasm.  His  experience  was  that 
Schroder-Devrient,  in  his  Adele  de  Foix,  would  render  very 
indifferently  the  same  final  passage  with  which,  in  Bellini's 
Romeo  and  Juliet,  she  would  put  the  audience  into  an  ecstasy. 
The  reason  for  this,  he  presumed,  must  lie  in  the  subject-matter. 
I  at  once  promised  him  that  I  would  supply  him  with  a  libretto 
in  which  he  would  be  able  to  introduce  these  and  similar 
melodies  to  the  greatest  advantage.  To  this  he  gladly  agreed, 
and  I  therefore  set  aside  for  versification,  as  a  suitable  text 
for  Reissiger,  my  Hohe  Braut,  founded  on  Konig's  romance, 
which  I  had  once  before  submitted  to  Scribe.  I  promised  to 
bring  Reissiger  a  page  of  verse  for  every  piano  rehearsal,  and 
this  I  faithfully  did  until  the  whole  book  was  done.  I  was 
much  surprised  to  learn  some  time  later  that  Reissiger  had  had 
a  new  libretto  written  for  him  by  an  actor  named  Kriethe. 
This  was  called  the  Wreck  of  the  Medusa.  I  then  learned  that 
the  wife  of  the  conductor,  who  was  a  suspicious  woman,  had 
been  filled  with  the  greatest  concern  at  my  readiness  to  give 
up  a  libretto  to  her  husband.  They  both  thought  the  book 
was  good  and  full  of  striking  effects,  but  they  suspected  some 
sort  of  trap  in  the  background,  to  escape  from  which  they 
must  certainly  exercise  the  greatest  caution.  The  result  was 
that  I  regained  possession  of  my  libretto  and  was  able,  later  on, 
to  help  my  old  friend  Kittl  with  it  in  Prague;  he  set  it  to 
music  of  his  own,  and  entitled  it  Die  Franzosen  vor  Nizza. 
I  heard  that  it  was  frequently  performed  in  Prague  with  great 
success,  though  I  never  saw  it  myself;  and  I  was  also  told  at 
the  same  time  by  a  local  critic  that  this  text  was  a  proof  of  my 
real  aptitude  as  a  librettist,  and  that  it  was  a  mistake  for  me  to 
devote  myself  to  composition.  As  regards  my  Tannhauser,  on 
the  other  hand,  Laube  used  to  declare  it  was  a  misfortune  that^ 
I  had  not  got  an  experienced  dramatist  to  supply  me  with  a 
decent  text  for  my  music. 

For  the  time  being,  however,  this  work  of  versification  had 
the  desired  result,  and  Reissiger  kept  steadily  to  the  study  of 
Rienzi.  But  what  encouraged  him  even  more  than  my  verses 
was  the  growing  interest  of  the  singers,  and  above  all  the 
genuine  enthusiasm  of  Tichatschek,  This  man,  who  had  been 


278  MY   LIFE 

so  ready  to  leave  the  delights  of  the  theatre  piano  for  a  shooting 
party,  now  looked  upon  the  rehearsals  of  Rienzi  as  a  genuine 
treat  He  always  attended  them  with  radiant  eyes  and  boister- 
ous good-humour.  I  soon  felt  myself  in  a  state  of  constant  ex- 
hilaration :  favourite  passages  were  greeted  with  acclamation  by 
the  singers  at  every  rehearsal,  and  a  concerted  number  of  the 
third  finale,  which  unfortunately  had  afterwards  to  be  omitted 
owing  to  its  length,  actually  became  on  that  occasion  a  source 
of  profit  to  me.  For  Tichatschek  maintained  that  this  B  minor 
was  so  lovely  that  something  ought  to  be  paid  for  it  every 
time,  and  he  put  down  a  silver  penny,  inviting  the  others  to 
do  the  same,  to  which  they  all  responded  merrily.  From  that 
day  forward,  whenever  we  came  to  this  passage  at  rehearsals, 
the  cry  was  raised,  '  Here  comes  the  silver  penny  part,'  and 
Schroder-Devrient,  as  she  took  out  her  purse,  remarked  that 
these  rehearsals  would  ruin  her.  This  gratuity  was  conscien- 
tiously handed  to  me  each  time,  and  no  one  suspected  that 
these  contributions,  which  were  given  as  a  joke,  were  often  a 
very  welcome  help  towards  defraying  the  cost  of  our  daily  food. 
For  Minna  had  returned  from  Toplitz,  at  the  beginning  of 
August,  accompanied  by  my  mother. 

We  lived  very  frugally  in  chilly  lodgings,  hopefully  awaiting 
the  tardy  day  of  our  deliverance.  The  months  of  August 
and  September  passed,  in  preparation  for  my  work,  amid 
frequent  disturbances  caused  by  the  fluctuating  and  scanty 
repertoire  of  a  German  opera  house,  and  not  until  October 
did  the  combined  rehearsals  assume  such  a  character  as  to 
promise  the  certainty  of  a  speedy  production.  From  the 
very  beginning  of  the  general  rehearsals  with  the  orchestra 
we  all  shared  the  conviction  that  the  opera  would,  without 
doubt,  be  a  great  success.  Finally,  the  full  dress  rehearsals 
produced  a  perfectly  intoxicating  effect.  When  we  tried  the 
first  scene  of  the  second  act  with  the  scenery  complete,  and 
the  messengers  of  peace  entered,  there  was  a  general  outburst 
of  emotion,  and  even  Schroder-Devrient,  who  was  bitterly 
prejudiced  against  her  part,  as  it  was  not  the  role  of  the 
heroine,  could  only  answer  my  questions  in  a  voice  stifled 
with  tears.  I  believe  the  whole  theatrical  body,  down  to  its 
humblest  officials,  loved  me  as  though  I  were  a  real  prodigy, 


GROWING   ENTHUSIASM   IN   'RIENZI'     279 

and  I  am  probably  not  far  wrong  in  saying  that  much  of  this 
arose  from  sympathy  and  lively  fellow-feeling  for  a  young  man, 
whose  exceptional  difficulties  were  not  unknown  to  them,  and 
who  now  suddenly  stepped  out  of  perfect  obscurity  into  splen- 
dour. During  the  interval  at  the  full  dress  rehearsal,  while 
other  members  had  dispersed  to  revive  their  jaded  nerves 
with  lunch,  I  remained  seated  on  a  pile  of  boards  on  the  stage, 
in  order  that  no  one  might  realise  that  I  was  in  the  quan- 
dary of  being  unable  to  obtain  similar  refreshment.  An  in- 
valid Italian  singer,  who  was  taking  a  small  part  in  the  opera, 
seemed  to  notice  this,  and  kindly  brought  me  a  glass  of  wine 
and  a  piece  of  bread.  I  was  sorry  that  I  was  obliged  to  deprive 
him  of  even  his  small  part  in  the  course  of  the  year,  for  its 
loss  provoked  such  ill-treatment  from  his  wife,  that  by  conjugal 
tyranny  he  was  driven  into  the  ranks  of  my  enemies.  When, 
after  my  flight  from  Dresden  in  1849,  I  learned  that  I  had 
been  denounced  to  the  police  by  this  same  singer  for  supposed 
complicity  in  the  rising  which  took  place  in  that  town,  I  be- 
thought me  of  this  breakfast  during  the  Eienzi  rehearsal,  and 
felt  I  was  being  punished  for  my  ingratitude,  for  I  knew  I  was 
guilty  of  having  brought  him  into  trouble  with  his  wife. 

The  frame  of  mind  in  which  I  looked  forward  to  the  first 
performance  of  my  work  was  a  unique  experience  which  I 
have  never  felt  either  before  or  since.  My  kind  sister  Clara 
fully  shared  my  feelings.  She  had  been  living  a  wretched 
middle-class  life  at  Chemnitz,  which,  just  about  this  time,  she 
had  left  to  come  and  share  my  fate  in  Dresden.  The  poor 
woman,  whose  undoubted  artistic  gifts  had  faded  so  early,  was 
laboriously  dragging  out  a  commonplace  bourgeois  existence 
as  a  wife  and  mother;  but  now,  under  the  influence  of  my 
growing  success,  she  began  joyously  to  breathe  a  new  life.  She 
and  I  and  the  worthy  chorus-master  Fischer  used  to  spend  our 
evenings  with  the  Heine  family,  still  over  potatoes  and  herrings, 
and  often  in  a  wonderfully  elated  frame  of  mind.  The  even- 
ing  before  our  first  performance  I  was  able  to  crown  our  hap- 
piness by  myself  ladling  out  a  bowl  of  punch.  With  mingled 
tears  and  laughter  we  skipped  about  like  happy  children,  and 
then  in  sleep  prepared  ourselves  for  the  triumphant  day  to 
which  we  looked  forward  with  such  confidence. 


280 

Although  on  the  morning  of  20th  October,  1842  I  had  re- 
solved not  to  disturb  any  of  my  singers  by  a  visit,  yet  I  hap- 
pened to  come  across  one  of  them,  a  stiff  Philistine  called 
Risse,  who  was  playing  a  minor  bass  part  in  a  dull  but  respect- 
able way.  The  day  was  rather  cool,  but  wonderfully  bright 
and  sunshiny,  after  the  gloomy  weather  we  had  just  been 
having.  Without  a  word  this  curious  creature  saluted  me  and 
then  remained  standing,  as  though  bewitched.  He  simply 
gazed  into  my  face  with  wonder  and  rapture,  in  order  to  find 
out,  so  he  at  last  managed  to  tell  me  in  strange  confusion,  how 
a  man  looked  who  that  very  day  was  to  face  such  an  exceptional 
fate.  I  smiled  and  reflected  that  it  was  indeed  a  day  of  crisis, 
and  promised  him  that  I  would  soon  drink  a  glass  with  him,  at 
the  Stadt  Hamburg  inn,  of  the  excellent  wine  he  had  recom- 
mended to  me  with  so  much  agitation. 

No  subsequent  experience  of  mine  can  be  compared  with 
the  sensations  which  marked  the  day  of  the  first  production  of 
Rienzi.  At  all  the  first  performances  of  my  works  in  later  days, 
I  have  been  so  absorbed  by  an  only  too  well-founded  anxiety 
as  to  their  success,  that  I  could  neither  enjoy  the  opera  nor 
form  any  real  estimate  of  its  reception  by  the  public.  As  for 
my  subsequent  experiences  at  the  general  rehearsal  of  Tristan 
und  Isolde,  this  took  place  under  such  exceptional  circum- 
stances, and  its  effect  upon  me  differed  so  fundamentally  from 
that  produced  by  the  first  performance  of  Rienzi,  that  no  com- 
parison can  possibly  be  drawn  between  the  two. 

The  immediate  success  of  Rienzi  was  no  doubt  assured  before- 
hand. But  the  emphatic  way  in  which  the  audience  declared 
their  appreciation  was  thus  far  exceptional,  that  in  cities  like 
Dresden  the  spectators  are  never  in  a  position  to  decide  con- 
clusively upon  a  work  of  importance  on  the  first  night,  and 
consequently  assume  an  attitude  of  chilling  restraint  towards 
the  works  of  unknown  authors.  But  this  was,  in  the  nature 
of  things,  an  exceptional  case,  for  the  numerous  staff  of  the 
theatre  and  the  body  of  musicians  had  inundated  the  city  be- 
forehand with  such  glowing  reports  of  my  opera,  that  the 
whole  population  awaited  the  promised  miracle  in  feverish  ex- 
pectation. I  sat  with  Minna,  my  sister  Clara,  and  the  Heine 
family  in  a  pit-box,  and  when  I  try  to  recall  my  condition 


THE    SUCCESS    OF    'RIENZI'  281 

during  that  evening,  I  can  only  picture  it  with  all  the  para- 
phernalia of  a  dream.  Of  real  pleasure  or  agitation  I  felt  none 
at  all:  I  seemed  to  stand  quite  aloof  from  my  work;  whereas 
the  sight  of  the  thickly  crowded  auditorium  agitated  me  so 
much,  that  I  was  unable  even  to  glance  at  the  body  of  the 
audience,  whose  presence  merely  affected  me  like  some  natural 
phenomenon  —  something  like  a  continuous  downpour  of  rain  — 
from  which  I  sought  shelter  in  the  farthest  corner  of  my  box 
as  under  a  protecting  roof.  I  was  quite  unconscious  of  applause, 
and  when  at  the  end  of  the  acts  I  was  tempestuously  called  for, 
I  had  every  time  to  be  forcibly  reminded  by  Heine  and  driven 
on  to  the  stage.  On  the  other  hand,  one  great  anxiety  filled 
me  with  growing  alarm:  I  noticed  that  the  first  two  acts  had 
taken  as  long  as  the  whole  of  Freischiitz,  for  instance.  On 
account  of  its  warlike  calls  to  arms  the  third  act  begins  with  an 
exceptional  uproar,  and  when  at  its  close  the  clock  pointed  to 
ten,  which  meant  that  the  performance  had  already  lasted  full 
four  hours,  I  became  perfectly  desperate.  The  fact  that  after 
this  act,  also,  I  was  again  loudly  called,  I  regarded  merely 
as  a  final  courtesy  on  the  part  of  the  audience,  who  wished  to 
signify  that  they  had  had  quite  enough  for  one  evening,  and 
would  now  leave  the  house  in  a  body.  As  we  had  still  two  acts 
before  us,  I  thought  it  settled  that  we  should  not  be  able  to 
finish  the  piece,  and  apologised  for  my  lack  of  wisdom  in  not 
having  previously  effected  the  necessary  curtailments.  Now, 
thanks  to  my  folly,  I  found  myself  in  the  unheard-of  predica- 
ment of  being  unable  to  finish  an  opera,  otherwise  extremely 
well  received,  simply  because  it  was  absurdly  long.  I  could 
only  explain  the  undiminished  zeal  of  the  singers,  and  particu- 
larly of  Tichatschek,  who  seemed  to  grow  lustier  and  cheerier 
the  longer  it  lasted,  as  an  amiable  trick  to  conceal  from  me 
the  inevitable  catastrophe.  But  my  astonishment  at  finding 
the  audience  still  there  in  full  muster,  even  in  the  last  act  — 
towards  midnight  —  filled  me  with  unbounded  perplexity.  I 
could  no  longer  trust  my  eyes  or  ears,  and  regarded  the  whole 
events  of  the  evening  as  a  nightmare.  It  was  past  midnight 
when,  for  the  last  time,  I  had  to  obey  the  thunderous  calls  of 
the  audience,  side  by  side  with  my  trusty  singers. 

My  feeling  of  desperation  at  the  unparalleled  length  of  my 


282  MY   LIFE 

opera  was  augmented  by  the  temper  of  my  relatives,  whom 
I  saw  for  a  short  time  after  the  performance.  Friedrich 
Brockhaus  and  his  family  had  come  over  with  some  friends 
from  Leipzig,  and  had  invited  us  to  the  inn,  hoping  to  celebrate 
an  agreeable  success  over  a  pleasant  supper,  and  possibly  to 
drink  my  health.  But  on  arriving,  kitehen  and  cellar  were 
closed,  and  every  one  was  so  worn  out  that  nothing  was  to  be 
heard  but  outcries  at  the  unparalleled  case  of  an  opera  lasting 
from  six  o'clock  till  past  twelve.  No  further  remarks  were 
exchanged,  and  we  stole  away  feeling  quite  stupefied. 

About  eight  the  next  morning  I  put  in  an  appearance  at  the 
clerks'  office,  in  order  that  in  case  there  should  be  a  second 
performance  I  might  arrange  the  necessary  curtailment  of  the 
parts.  If,  during  the  previous  summer,  I  had  contested  every 
beat  with  the  faithful  chorus-master  Fischer,  and  proved  them 
all  to  be  indispensable,  I  was  now  possessed  by  a  blind  rage 
for  striking  out.  There  was  not  a  single  part  of  my  score  which 
seemed  any  longer  necessary  —  what  the  audience  had  been 
made  to  swallow  the  previous  evening  now  appeared  but  a  chaos 
of  sheer  impossibilities,  each  and  all  of  which  might  be  omitted 
without  the  slightest  damage  or  risk  of  being  unintelligible. 
My  one  thought  now  was  how  to  reduce  my  convolution  of 
monstrosities  to  decent  limits.  By  dint  of  unsparing  and  ruth- 
less abbreviations  handed  over  to  the  copyist,  I  hoped  to  avert 
a  catastrophe,  for  I  expected  nothing  less  than  that  the  general 
manager,  together  with  the  city  and  the  theatre,  would  that  very 
day  give  me  to  understand  that  such  a  thing  as  the  performance 
of  my  Last  of  the  Tribunes  might  perhaps  be  permitted 
once  as  a  curiosity,  but  not  oftener.  All  day  long,  there- 
fore, I  carefully  avoided  going  near  the  theatre,  so  as  to 
give  time  for  my  heroic  abbreviations  to  do  their  salutary  work, 
and  for  news  of  them  to  spread  through  the  city.  But  at  mid- 
day I  looked  in  again  upon  the  copyists,  to  assure  myself  that 
all  had  been  duly  performed  as  I  had  ordered.  I  then  learned 
that  Tichatschek  had  also  been  there,  and,  after  inspecting 
the  omissions  that  I  had  arranged,  had  forbidden  their 
being  carried  out.  Fischer,  the  chorus-master,  also  wished 
to  speak  to  me  about  them:  wjbrk  was  suspended,  and  I 
foresaw  great  confusion.  I  could  not  understand  what  it  all 


SECOND  PEKFOKMANCE   OF   'KIENZI'      283 

meant,  and  feared  mischief  if  the  arduous  task  were  delayed. 
At  length,  towards  evening,  I  sought  out  Tichatschek  at  the 
theatre.  Without  giving  him  a  chance  to  speak,  I  brusquely 
asked  him  why  he  had  interrupted  the  coypists'  work.  In  a 
half-choked  voice  he  curtly  and  defiantly  rejoined,  '  I  will  have 
none  of  my  part  cut  out  —  it  is  too  heavenly.'  I  stared  at  him 
blankly,  and  then  felt  as  though  I  had  been  suddenly  bewitched : 
such  an  unheard-of  testimony  to  my  success  could  not  but  shake 
me  out  of  my  strange  anxiety.  Others  joined  him,  Fischer 
radiant  with  delight  and  bubbling  with  laughter.  Every  one 
spoke  of  the  enthusiastic  emotion  which  thrilled  the  whole 
city.  Next  came  a  letter  of  thanks  from  the  Commissioner 
acknowledging  my  splendid  work.  Nothing  now  remained  for 
me  but  to  embrace  Tichatschek  and  Fischer,  and  go  on  my 
way  to  inform  Minna  and  Clara  how  matters  stood. 

After  a  few  days'  rest  for  the  actors,  the  second  performance 
took  place  on  26th  October,  but  with  various  curtailments,  for 
which  I  had  great  difficulty  in  obtaining  Tichatschek's  con- 
sent. Although  it  was  still  of  much  more  than  average  length, 
I  heard  no  particular  complaints,  and  at  last  adopted  Tichat- 
schek's view  that,  if  he  could  stand  it,  so  could  the  audience. 
For  six  performances  therefore,  all  of  which  continued  to  re- 
ceive a  similar  avalanche  of  applause,  I  let  the  matter  run  its 
course. 

My  opera,  however,  had  also  excited  interest  among  the 
elder  princesses  of  the  royal  family.  They  thought  its  exhaust- 
ing length  a  drawback,  but  were  nevertheless  unwilling  to  misa 
any  of  it.  Liittichau  consequently  proposed  that  I  should  give 
the  piece  at  full  length,  but  half  of  it  at  a  time  on  two  successive 
evenings.  This  suited  me  very  well,  and  after  an  interval  of 
a  few  weeks  we  announced  Rienzi's  Greatness  for  the  first  day, 
and  His  Fall  for  the  second.  The  first  evening  we  gave  two 
acts,  and  on  the  second  three,  and  for  the  latter  I  composed 
a  special  introductory  prelude.  This  met  with  the  entire  ap- 
proval of  our  august  patrons,  and  especially  of  the  two  eldest, 
Princesses  Amalie  and  Augusta.  The  public,  on  the  contrary, 
simply  regarded  this  in  the  light  of  now  being  asked  to  pay 
two  entrance  fees  for  one  opera,  and  pronounced  the  new 
arrangement  a  decided  fraud.  Its  annoyance  at  the  change 


284  MY   LIFE 

was  so  great  that  it  actually  threatened  to  be  fatal  to  the  at- 
tendance, and  after  three  performances  of  the  divided  Rienzi 
the  management  was  obliged  to  go  back  to  the  old  arrangement, 
which  I  willingly  made  possible  by  introducing  my  cuttings 
again. 

From  this  time  forward  the  piece  used  to  fill  the  house  to 
overflowing  as  often  as  it  could  be  presented,  and  the  perma- 
nence of  its  success  became  still  more  obvious  when  I  began  to 
realise  the  envy  it  drew  upon  me  from  many  different  quarters. 
My  first  experience  of  this  was  truly  painful,  and  came  from 
the  hands  of  the  poet,  Julius  Mosen,  on  the  very  day  after  the 
first  performance.  When  I  first  reached  Dresden  in  the  sum- 
mer I  had  sought  him  out,  and,  having  a  really  high  opinion 
of  his  talent,  our  intercourse  soon  became  more  intimate,  and 
was  the  means  of  giving  me  much  pleasure  and  instruction. 
He  had  shown  me  a  volume  of  his  plays,  which  on  the  whole 
appealed  to  me  exceptionally.  Among  these  was  a  tragedy, 
Cola  Rienzi,  dealing  with  the  same  subject  as  my  opera,  and 
in  a  manner  partly  new  to  me,  and  which  I  thought  effec- 
tive. With  reference  to  this  poem,  I  had  begged  him  to  take 
no  notice  of  my  libretto,  as  in  the  quality  of  its  poetry  it 
could  not  possibly  bear  comparison  with  his  own;  and  it  cost 
him  little  sacrifice  to  grant  the  request.  It  happened  that 
just  before  the  first  performance  of  my  Rienzi,  he  had  pro- 
duced in  Dresden  Bemhard  von  Weimar,  one  of  his  least 
happy  pieces,  the  result  of  which  had  brought  him  little 
pleasure.  Dramatically  it  was  a  thing  with  no  life  in  it,  aim- 
ing only  at  political  harangue,  and  had  shared  the  inevitable 
fate  of  all  such  aberrations.  He  had  therefore  awaited  the 
appearance  of  my  Rienzi  with  some  vexation,  and  confessed 
to  me  his  bitter  chagrin  at  not  being  able  to  procure  the  ac- 
ceptance of  his  tragedy  of  the  same  name  in  Dresden.  This, 
he  presumed,  arose  from  its  somewhat  pronounced  political 
tendency,  which,  certainly  in  a  spoken  play  on  a  similar 
subject,  would  be  more  noticeable  than  in  an  opera,  where 
from  the  very  start  no  one  pays  any  heed  to  the  words.  I 
had  genially  confirmed  him  in  this  depreciation  of  the  subject 
matter  in  opera;  and  was  therefore  the  more  startled  when, 
on  finding  him  at  my  sister  Louisa's  the  day  after  the  first 


THE   CBITICS  285 

performance,  he  straightway  overwhelmed  me  with  a  scornful 
outburst  of  irritation  at  my  success.  But  he  found  in  me  a 
strange  sense  of  the  essential  unreality  in  opera  of  such  a 
subject  as  that  which  I  had  just  illustrated  with  so  much 
success  in  Rienzi,  so  that,  oppressed  by  a  secret  sense  of  shame, 
I  had  no  serious  rejoinder  to  offer  to  his  candidly  poisonous 
abuse.  My  line  of  defence  was  not  yet  sufficiently  clear  in 
my  own  mind  to  be  available  offhand,  nor  was  it  yet  backed 
by  so  obvious  a  jjrodurt  oJLmy  ow_n_^eculiar  genius  that  I  could 
venture  to  quote  it.  Moreover,  my  first  impulse  was  only  one 
of  pity  for  the  unlucky  playwright,  which  I  felt  all  the  more 
constrained  to  express,  because  his  burst  of  fury  gave  me  the 
inward  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  he  recognised  my  great 
success,  of  which  I  was  not  yet  quite  clear  myself. 

But  this  first  performance  of  Rienzi  did  far  more  than  this. 
It  gave  occasion  for  controversy,  and  made  an  ever-widening 
breach  between  myself  and  the  newspaper  critics.  Herr  Karl 
Bank,  who  for  some  time  had  been  the  chief  musical  critic  in 
Dresden,  had  been  known  to  me  before  at  Magdeburg,  where  he 
once  visited  me  and  listened  with  delight  to  my  playing  of 
several  fairly  long  passages  from  my  Liebesverbot.  When  we 
met  again  in  Dresden,  this  man  could  not  forgive  me  for  having 
been  unable  to  procure  him  tickets  for  the  first  performance 
of  Rienzi.  The  same  thing  happened  with  a  certain  Herr 
Julius  Schladebach,  who  likewise  settled  in  Dresden  about  that 
time  as  a  critic.  Though  I  was  always  anxious  to  be  gracious 
to  everybody,  yet  I  felt  just  then  an  invincible  repugnance 
for  showing  special  deference  to  any  man  because  he  was  a 
critic.  As  time  went  on,  I  carried  this  rule  to  the  point  of 
almost  systematic  rudeness,  and  was  consequently  all  my  life 
through  the  victim  of  unprecedented  persecution  from  tho 
jDress.  As  yet,  however,  this  ill-will  had  not  become  pro- 
nounced, for  at  that  time  journalism  had  not  begun  to  give 
itself  airs  in  Dresden.  There  were  so  few  contributions  sent 
from  there  to  the  outside  press  that  our  artistic  doings  excited 
very  little  notice  elsewhere,  a  fact  which  was  certainly  not 
without  its  disadvantages  for  me.  Thus  for  the  present  the 
unpleasant  side  of  my  success  scarcely  affected  me  at  all,  and 
for  a  brief  space  I  felt  myself,  for  the  first  and  only  time  in  in y 


286  MY   LIFE 

life,  so  pleasantly  borne  along  on  the  breath  of  general  good- 
will, that  all  my  former  troubles  seemed  amply  requited. 

For  further  and  quite  unexpected  fruits  of  my  success  now 
appeared  with  astonishing  rapidity,  though  not  so  much  in 
the  form  of  material  profit,  which  for  the  present  resolved 
itself  into  nine  hundred  marks,  paid  me  by  the  General  Board 
as  an  exceptional  fee  instead  of  the  usual  twenty  golden  louis. 
Nor  did  I  darexto  cherish  the  hope  of  selling  my  work  advan- 
tageously to  a  publisher,  until  it  had  been  performed  in  some 
other  important  towns.  But  fate  willed  it,  that  by  the  sudden 
death  of  Kastrelli,  royal  director  of  music,  which  occurred 
shortly  after  the  first  production  of  Elcnzi,  an  office  should 
unexpectedly  become  vacant,  for  the  filling  of  which  all  eyes 
at  once  turned  to  me. 

While  the  negotiations  over  this  matter  were  slowly  proceed- 
ing, the  General  Board  gave  proof  in  another  direction  of  an 
almost  passionate  interest  in  my  talents.  They  insisted  that 
the  first  performance  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander  should  on 
no  account  be  conceded  to  the  Berlin  opera,  but  reserved  as 
an  honour  for  Dresden.  As  the  Berlin  authorities  raised  no 
obstacle,  I  very  gladly  handed  over  my  latest  work  also  to  the 
Dresden  theatre.  If  in  this  I  had  to  dispense  with  Tichat- 
schek's  assistance,  as  there  was  no  leading  tenor  part  in  the 
play,  I  could  count  all  the  more  surely  on  the  helpful  co- 
operation of  Schroder-Devrient,  to  whom  a  worthier  task  was 
assigned  in  the  leading  female  part  than  that  which  she  had  had 
in  Rienzi.  I  was  glad  to  be  able  thus  to  rely  entirely  upon  her, 
as  she  had  grown  strangely  out  of  humour  with  me,  owing  to 
her  scanty  share  in  the  success  of  Rienzi.  The  completeness 
of  my  faith  in  her  I  proved  with  an  exaggeration  by  no  means 
advantageous  to  my  own  work,  by  simply  forcing  the  leading 
male  part  on  Wachter,  a  once  capable,  but  now  somewhat 
delicate  baritone.  He  was  in  every  respect  wholly  unsuited 
to  the  task,  and  only  accepted  it  with  unfeigned  hesitation. 
On  submitting  my  play  to  my  adored  prima  donna,  I  was  much 
relieved  to  find  that  its  poetry  made  a  special  appeal  to  her. 
Thanks  to  the  genuine  personal  interest  awakened  in  me  under 
very  peculiar  circumstances  by  the  character  and  fate  of  this 
exceptional  woman,  our  study  of  the  part  of  Senta,  which  often 


CONCERT   IN   LEIPZIG  287 

brought  us  into  close  contact,  became  one  of  the  most  thrilling 
and  momentously  instructive  periods  of  my  life. 

It  is  true  that  the  great  actress,  especially  when  under  the 
influence  of  her  famous  mother,  Sophie  Schroder,  who  was  just 
then  with  her  on  a  visit,  showed  undisguised  vexation  at  my 
having  composed  so  brilliant  a  work  as  Rienzi  for  Dresden 
without  having  specifically  reserved  the  principal  part  for  her. 
Yet  the  magnanimity  of  her  disposition  triumphed  even  over 
this  selfish  impulse :  she  loudly  proclaimed  me  '  a  genius,' 
and  honoured  me  with  that  special  confidence  which,  she  said, 
none  but  a  genius  should  enjoy.  But  when  she  invited  me  to 
become  both  the  accomplice  and  adviser  in  her  really  dreadful 
love  affairs,  this  confidence  certainly  began  to  have  its  risky 
side ;  nevertheless  there  were  at  first  occasions  on  which  she 
openly  proclaimed  herself  before  all  the  world  as  my  friend, 
making  most  flattering  distinctions  in  my  favour. 

First  of  all  I  had  to  accompany  her  on  a  trip  to  Leipzig, 
where  she  was  giving  a  concert  for  her  mother's  benefit,  which 
she  thought  to  make  particularly  attractive  by  including  in 
its  programme  two  selections  from  Rienzi  —  the  aria  of  Adriano 
and  the  hero's  prayer  (the  latter  sung  by  Tichatschek),  and 
both  under  my  personal  conductorship.  Mendelssohn^  who  was,!*— vJL*l 
also  on  very  friendly  terms  with  her,  had  been  enticed  to  this  ' 
concert  too,  and  produced  his  overture  to  Ruy  Bias,  then  quite 
new.  It  was  during  the  two  busy  days  spent  on  this  occasion 
in  Leipzig  that  I  first  came  into  close  contact  with  him,  all 
my  previous  knowledge  of  him  having  been  limited  to  a  few 
rare  and  altogether  profitless  visits.  At  the  house  of  my 
brother-in-law,  Fritz  Brockhaus,  he  and  Devrient  gave  us  a 
good  deal  of  music,  he  playing  her  accompaniment  to  a  num- 
ber of  Schubert's  songs.  I  here  became  conscious  of  the  pecu- 
liar unrest  and  excitement  with  which  this  master  of  music, 
who,  though  still  young,  had  already  reached  the  zenith  of 
his  fame  and  life's  work,  observed  or  rather  watched  me.  I 
could  see  clearly  that  he  thought  but  little  of  a  success  in\ 
opera,  and  that  merely  in  Dresden.  Doubtless  I  seemed  in 
his  eyes  one  of  a  class  of  musicians  to  whom  he  attached  no 
value,  and  with  whom  he  proposed  to  have  no  intercourse. 
Nevertheless  my  success  had  certain  characteristic  features, 


288  MY   LIFE 

which  gave  it  a  more  or  less  alarming  aspect  Mendelssohn's 
most  ardent  desire  for  a  long  time  past  had  been  to  write  a 
successful  opera,  and  it  was  possible  he  now  felt  annoyed  that, 
before  he  had  succeeded  in  doing  so,  a  triumph  of  this  nature 
should  suddenly  be  thrust  into  his  face  with  blunt  brutality, 
and  based  upon  a  style  of  music  which  he  might  feel  justified 
in  regarding  as  poor.  He  probably  found  it  no  less  exasperat- 
ing that  Devrient,  whose  gifts  he  acknowledged,  and  who  was  his 
own  devoted  admirer,  should  now  so  openly  and  loudly  sound 
my  praises.  These  thoughts  were  dimly  shaping  themselves 
in  my  mind,  when  Mendelssohn,  by  a  very  remarkable  state- 
ment, drove  me,  almost  with  violence,  to  adopt  this  interpre- 
tation. On  our  way  home  together,  after  the  joint  concert 
rehearsal,  I  was  talking  very  warmly  on  the  subject  of  music. 
Although  by  no  means  a  talkative  man,  he  suddenly  inter- 
rupted me  with  curiously  hasty  excitement  by  the  assertion 
that  music  had  but  one  great  fault,  namely,  that  more  than 
any  other  art  it  stimulated  not  only  our  good,  but  also  our 
evil  qualities,  such,  for  instance,  as  jealousy.  I  blushed 
with  shame  to  have  to  apply  this  speech  to  his  own  feelings 
towards  me;  for  I  was  profoundly  conscious  of  my  innocence 
of  ever  having  dreamed,  even  in  the  remotest  degree,  of  placing 
my  own  talents  or  performances  as  a  musician  in  comparison 
with  his.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  at  this  very  concert  he  showed 
himself  in  a  light  by  no  means  calculated  to  place  him  beyond 
all  possibility  of  comparison  with  myself.  A  rendering  of  his 
Hebrides  Overture  would  have  placed  him  so  immeasurably 
above  my  two  operatic  airs,  that  all  shyness  at  having  to  stand 
beside  him  would  have  been  spared  me,  as  the  gulf  between  our 
two  productions  was  impassable.  But  in  his  choice  of  the  Ruy 
Bias  Overture  he  appears  to  have  been  prompted  by  a  desire 
to  place  himself  on  this  occasion  so  close  to  the  operatic  style 
that  its  effectiveness  might  be  reflected  upon  his  own  work. 
The  overture  was  evidently  calculated  for  a  Parisian  audience, 
and  the  astonishment  Mendelssohn  caused  by  appearing  in  such 
a  connection  was  shown  by  Robert  Schumann  in  his  own 
ungainly  fashion  at  its  close.  Approaching  the  musician  in 
the  orchestra,  he  blandly,  and  with  a  genial  smile,  expressed 
his  admiration  of  the  '  brilliant  orchestral  piece  '  just  played. 


BERLIN.     MEETING   WITH   LISZT  289 

But  in  the  interests  of  veracity  let  me  not  forget  that  neither 
he  nor  I  scored  the  real  success  of  that  evening.  We  were 
both  wholly  eclipsed  by  the  tremendous  effect  produced  by 
the  grey-haired  Sophie  Schroder  in  a  recitation  of  Burger's 
Lenore.  While  the  daughter  had  been  taunted  in  the  news- 
papers with  unfairly  employing  all  sorts  of  musical  attractions 
to  cozen  a  benefit  concert  out  of  the  music  lovers  of  Leipzig 
for  a  mother  who  never  had  anything  to  do  with  that  art,  we, 
who  were  there  as  her  musical  aiders  and  abettors,  had  to  stand 
like  so  many  idle  conjurers,  while  this  aged  and  almost  tooth- 
less dame  declaimed  Burger's  poem  with  truly  terrifying 
beauty  and  grandeur.  This  episode,  like  so  much  else  that  I 
saw  during  these  few  days,  gave  me  abundant  food  for  thought 
and  meditation. 

A  second  excursion,  also  undertaken  with  Devrient,  took  me 
in  the  December  of  that  year  to  Berlin,  where  the  singer  had 
been  invited  to  appear  at  a  grand  state  concert.  I  for  my 
part  wanted  an  interview  with  Director  Kiistner  about  the 
Fliegender  Hollander.  Although  I  arrived  at  no  definite  result 
regarding  my  own  personal  business,  this  short  visit  to  Berlin 
was  memorable  for  my  meeting  with  Tjanr  Linnt,  which  after- 
wards proved  of  great  importance.  It  took  place  under  singular 
circumstances,  which  placed  both  him  and  me  in  a  situation 
of  peculiar  embarrassment,  brought  about  in  the  most  wanton 
fashion  by  Devrient's  exasperating  caprice. 

I  had  already  told  my  patroness  the  story  of  my  earlier 
meeting  with  Liszt.  During  that  fateful  second  winter  of  my 
stay  in  Paris,  when  I  had  at  last  been  driven  to  be  grateful 
for  Schlesinger's  hack-work,  I  one  day  received  word  from 
Laube,  who  always  bore  me  in  mind,  that  F.  Liszt  was  coming 
to  Paris.  He  had  mentioned  and  recommended  me  to  him 
when  he  was  in  Germany,  and  advised  me  to  lose  no  time  in 
looking  him  up,  as  he  was  '  generous,'  and  would  certainly 
find  means  of  helping  me.  As  soon  as  I  heard  that  he  had 
really  arrived,  I  presented  myself  at  the  hotel  to  see  him.  It 
was  early  in  the  morning.  On  my  entrance  I  found  several 
strange  gentlemen  waiting  in  the  drawing-room,  where,  after 
some  time,  we  were  joined  by  Liszt  himself,  pleasant  and  affable, 
and  wearing  his  indoor  coat.  The  conversation  was  carried  on 


290  MY   LIFE 

in  French,  and  turned  upon  his  experiences  during  his  last 
professional  journey  in  Hungary.  As  I  was  unable  to  take 
part,  on  account  of  the  language,  I  listened  for  some  time, 
feeling  heartily  bored,  until  at  last  he  asked  me  pleasantly 
what  he  could  do  for  me.  He  seemed  unable  to  recall  Laube's 
recommendation,  and  all  the  answer  I  could  give  was  that  I 
desired  to  make  his  acquaintance.  To  this  he  had  evidently 
no  objection,  and  informed  me  he  would  take  care  to  have  a 
ticket  sent  me  for  his  great  matinee,  which  was  to  take  place 
shortly.  My  sole  attempt  to  introduce  an  artistic  theme  of 
conversation  was  a  question  as  to  whether  he  knew  Lowe's 
Erlkonig  as  well  as  Schubert's.  His  reply  in  the  negative 
frustrated  this  somewhat  awkward  attempt,  and  I  ended  my 
visit  by  giving  him  my  address.  Thither  his  secretary, 
Belloni,  presently  sent  me,  with  a  few  polite  words,  a  card  of 
admission  to  a  concert  to  be  given  entirely  by  the  master  him- 
self in  the  Salle  Erard.  I  duly  wended  my  way  to  the  over- 
crowded hall,  and  beheld  the  platform  on  which  the  grand  piano 
stood,  closely  beleaguered  by  the  cream  of  Parisian  female 
society,  and  witnessed  their  enthusiastic  ovations  of  this  virtuoso, 
who  was  at  that  time  the  wonder  of  the  world.  Moreover, 
I  heard  several  of  his  most  brilliant  pieces,  such  as  '  Variations 
on  Robert  le  Diable'  but  carried  away  with  me  no  real  im- 
pression beyond  that  of  being  stunned.  This  took  place  just 
at  the  time  when  I  abandoned  a  path  which  had  been  contrary 
to  my  truer  nature,  and  had  led  me  astray,  and  on  which  I 
now  emphatically  turned  my  back  in  silent  bitterness.  I  was 
therefore  in  no  fitting  mood  for  a  just  appreciation  of  this 
prodigy,  who  at  that  time  was  shining  in  the  blazing  light 
of  day,  but  from  whom  I  had  turned  my  face  to  the  night.  I 
went  to  see  Liszt  no  more. 

As  already  mentioned,  I  had  given  Devrient  a  bare  outline 
of  this  story,  but  she  had  noted  it  with  particular  attention, 
for  I  happened  to  have  touched  her  weak  point  of  professional 
jealousy.  As  Liszt  had  also  been  commanded  by  the  King  of 
Prussia  to  appear  at  the  grand  state  concert  at  Berlin,  it  so 
happened  that  the  first  time  they  met  Liszt  questioned  her 
with  great  interest  about  the  success  of  Rienzi.  She  thereupon 
observed  that  the  composer  of  that  opera  was  an  altogether 


SCHRODER-DEVRIENT   AND   LISZT          291 

unknown  man,  and  proceeded  with  curious  malice  to  taunt  him 
with  his  apparent  lack  of  penetration,  as  proved  by  the  fact 
that  the  said  composer,  who  now  so  keenly  excited  his  interest, 
was  the  very  same  poor  musician  whom  he  had  lately  *  turned 
away  so  contemptuously '  in  Paris.  All  this  she  told  me  with 
an  air  of  triumph,  which  distressed  me  very  much,  and  I  at 
once  set  to  work  to  correct  the  false  impression  conveyed  by 
my  former  account.  As  we  were  still  debating  this  point  in 
her  room,  we  were  startled  by  hearing  from  the  next  the 
famous  bass  part  in  the  '  Revenge  '  air  from  Donna  Anna, 
rapidly  executed  in  octaves  on  the  piano.  '  That 's  Liszt 
himself,'  she  cried.  Liszt  then  entered  the  room  to  fetch  her 
for  the  rehearsal.  To  my  great  embarrassment  she  introduced 
me  to  him  with  malicious  delight  as  the  composer  of  Rienzi, 
the  man  whose  acquaintance  he  now  wished  to  make  after 
having  previously  shown  him  the  door  in  his  glorious  Paris. 
My  solemn  asseverations  that  my  patroness  —  no  doubt  only 
in  fun  —  was  deliberately  distorting  my  account  of  my  former 
visit  to  him,  apparently  pacified  him  so  far  as  I  was  concerned, 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  he  had  no  doubt  already  formed  his 
own  opinion  of  the  impulsive  singer.  He  certainly  regretted 
that  he  could  not  remember  my  visit  in  Paris,  but  it  never- 
theless shocked  and  alarmed  him  to  learn  that  any  one  should 
have  had  reason  to  complain  of  such  treatment  at  his  hands. 
The  hearty  sincerity  of  Listz's  simple  words  to  me  about  this 
misunderstanding,  as  contrasted  with  the  strangely  passionate 
raillery  of  the  incorrigible  lady,  made  a  most  pleasing  and 
captivating  impression  upon  me.  The  whole  bearing  of  the 
man,  and  the  way  in  which  he  tried  to  ward  off  the  pitiless 
scorn  of  her  attacks,  was  something  new  to  me,  and  gave  me  a 
deep  insight  into  his  character,  so  firm  in  its  amiability  and 
boundless  good-nature.  Finally,  she  teased  him  about  the 
Doctor's  degree  which  had  just  been  conferred  on  him  by  the 
University  of  Konigsberg,  and  pretended  to  mistake  him  for  a 
chemist.  At  last  he  stretched  himself  out  flat  on  the  floor, 
and  implored  her  mercy,  declaring  himself  quite  defenceless 
against  the  storm  of  her  invective.  Then  turning  to  me  with 
a  hearty  assurance  that  he  would  make  it  his  business  to  hear 
Ricnzi,  and  would  in  any  case  endeavour  to  give  me  a  better 


292  MY   LIFE 

opinion  of  himself  than  his  evil  star  had  hitherto  permitted, 
we  parted  for  that  occasion. 

The  almost  nai've  simplicity  and  naturalness  of  his  every 
phrase  and  word,  and  particularly  his  emphatic  manner,  left 
a  most  profound  impression  upon  me.  No  one  could  fail  to 
be  equally  affected  by  these  qualities,  and  I  now  realised  for 
the  first  time  the  almost  magic  power  exerted  by  Liszt  over 
all  who  came  in  close  contact  with  him,  and  saw  how  erroneous 
had  been  my  former  opinion  as  to  its  cause. 

These  two  excursions  to  Leipzig  and  Berlin  found  but  brief 
interruptions  of  the  period  devoted  at  home  to  our  study  of 
the  Fliegender  Hollander.  It  was  therefore,  of  paramount  im- 
portance to  me  to  maintain  Schroder-Devrient's  keen  interest 
in  her  part,  since,  in  view  of  the  weakness  of  the  rest  of  the 
cast,  I  was  convinced  that  it  was  from  her  alone  I  could  expect 
any  adequate  interpretation  of  the  spirit  of  my  work. 

The  part  of  Senta  was  essentially  suited  to  her,  and  there 
were  just  at  that  moment  peculiar  circumstances  in  her  life 
which  brought  her  naturally  emotional  temperament  to  a  high 
pitch  of  tension.  I  was  amazed  when  she  confided  to  me  that 
she  was  on  the  point  of  breaking  off  a  regular  liaison  of  many 
years'  standing,  to  form,  in  passionate  haste,  another  much 
less  desirable  one.  The  forsaken  lover,  who  was  tenderly 
devoted  to  her,  was  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  Royal  Guards, 
and  the  son  of  Miiller,  the  ex-Minister  of  Education;  her  new 
choice,  whose  acquaintance  she  had  formed  on  a  recent  visit 
to  Berlin,  was  Herr  von  Miinchhausen.  He  was  a  tall,  slim 
young  man,  and  her  predilection  for  him  was  easily  explained 
when  I  became  more  closely  acquainted  with  her  love  affairs. 
It  seemed  to  me  that  the  bestowal  of  her  confidence  on  me  in 
this  matter  arose  from  her  guilty  conscience;  she  was  aware 
that  Miiller,  whom  I  liked  on  account  of  his  excellent  disposi- 
tion, had  loved  her  with  the  earnestness  of  a  first  love,  and  also 
that  she  was  now  betraying  him  in  the  most  faithless  way  on 
a  trivial  pretext.  She  must  have  known  that  her  new  lover 
was  entirely  unworthy  of  her,  and  that  his  intentions  were 
frivolous  and  selfish.  She  knew,  too,  that  no  one,  and  certainly 
none  of  her  older  friends  who  knew  her  best,  would  approve 
of  her  behaviour.  She  told  me  candidly  that  she  had  felt 


THE    <  FLIEGENDER   HOLLANDER'          293 

impelled  to  confide  in  me  because  I  was  a  genius,  and  would 
understand  the  demands  of  her  temperament.  I  hardly 
knew  what  to  think.  I  was  repelled  alike  by  her  passion  and 
the  circumstances  attending  it;  but  to  my  astonishment  I 
had  to  confess  that  the  infatuation,  so  repulsive  to  me,  held 
this  strange  woman  in  so  powerful  a  grasp  that  I  could 
not  refuse  her  a  certain  amount  of  pity,  nay,  even  real 
sympathy. 

She  was  pale  and  distraught,  ate  hardly  anything,  and  her 
faculties  were  subjected  to  a  strain  so  extraordinary  that  I 
thought  she  would  not  escape  a  serious,  perhaps  a  fatal  illness. 
Sleep  had  long  since  deserted  her,  and  whenever  I  brought 
her  my  unlucky  Fliegender  Hollander,  her  looks  so  alarmed  me 
that  the  proposed  rehearsal  was  the  last  thing  I  thought  of. 
But  in  this  matter  she  insisted ;  she  made  me  sit  down  at  the 
piano,  and  then  plunged  into  the  study  of  her  role  as  if  it  were 
a  matter  of  life  and  death.  She  found  the  actual  learning  of 
the  part  very  difficult,  and  it  was  only  by  repeated  and  perse- 
vering rehearsal  that  she  mastered  her  task.  She  would  sing 
for  hours  at  a  time  with  such  passion  that  I  often  sprang  up 
in  terror  and  begged  her  to  spare  herself ;  then  she  would  point 
smiling  to  her  chest,  and  expand  the  muscles  of  her  still  magnifi- 
cent person,  to  assure  me  that  she  was  doing  herself  no  harm. 
Her  voice  really  acquired  at  that  time  a  youthful  freshness  and 
power  of  endurance.  I  had  to  confess  that  which  often  aston- 
ished me:  this  infatuation  for  an  insipid  nobody  was  very 
much  to  the  advantage  of  my  Senta.  Her  courage  under  this 
intense  strain  was  so  great  that,  as  time  pressed,  she  consented 
to  have  the  general  rehearsal  on  the  very  day  of  the  first 
performance,  and  a  delay  which  would  have  been  greatly  to 
my  disadvantage  was  thus  avoided. 

The  performance  took  place  on  2nd  January,  in  the  year 
1843.  Its  result  was  extremely  instructive  to  me,  and  led  to 
the  turning-point  of  my  career.  The  ill-success  of  the  perform- . 
ance  taught  me  how  much  care  and  forethought  were  essential 
to  secure  the  adequate  dramatic  interpretation  of  my  latest 
works.  I  realised  that  I  had  more  or  less  believed  that  my 
score  would  explain  itself,  and  that  my  singers  would  arrive 
at  the  right  interpretation  of  their  own  accord.  My  good  old 


294  MY   LIFE 

friend  Wachter,  who  at  the  time  of  Henriette  Sontag's  first 
success  was  a  favourite  '  Barber  of  Seville/  had  from  the  first 
discreetly  thought  otherwise.  Unfortunately,  even  Schroder- 
Devrient  only  saw  when  the  rehearsals  were  too  far  advanced 
how  utterly  incapable  Wachter  was  of  realising  the  horror  and 
supreme  suffering  of  my  Mariner.  His  distressing  corpulence, 
his  broad  fat  face,  the  extraordinary  movements  of  his  arms 
and  legs,  which  he  managed  to  make  look  like  mere  stumps, 
drove  my  passionate  Senta  to  despair.  At  one  rehearsal, 
when  in  the  great  scene  in  Act  ii.  she  comes  to  him  in  the  guise 
of  a  guardian  angel  to  bring  the  message  of  salvation,  she  broke 
off  to  whisper  despairingly  in  my  ear,  '  How  can  I  say  it  when 
I  look  into  those  beady  eyes  ?  Good  God,  Wagner,  what  a 
muddle  you  have  made ! '  I  consoled  her  as  well  as  I  could, 
and  secretly  placed  my  dependence  on  Herr  von  Munchhausen, 
who  promised  faithfully  to  sit  that  evening  in  the  front  row  of 
the  stalls,  so  that  Devrient's  eyes  must  fall  on  him.  And  the 
magnificent  performance  of  my  great  artiste,  although  she 
stood  horribly  alone  on  the  stage,  did  succeed  in  rousing 
enthusiasm  in  the  second  act.  The  first  act  offered  the 
audience  nothing  but  a  dull  conversation  between  Herr 
Wachter  and  that  Herr  Eisse  who  had  invited  me  to  an 
excellent  glass  of  wine  on  the  first  night  of  Rienzi,  and  in  the 
third  the  loudest  raging  of  the  orchestra  did  not  rouse  the  sea 
from  its  dead  calm  nor  the  phantom  ship  in  its  cautious 
rocking.  The  audience  fell  to  wondering  how  I  could  have 
produced  this  crude,  meagre,  and  gloomy  work  after  Rienzi, 
in  every  act  of  which  incident  abounded,  and  Tichatschek 
shone  in  an  endless  variety  of  costumes. 

As  Schrb'der-Devrient  soon  left  Dresden  for  a  considerable 
time,  the  Fliegender  Hollander  saw  only  four  performances,  at 
which  the  diminishing  audiences  made  it  plain  that  I  had  not 
pleased  Dresden  taste  with  it.  The  management  was  com- 
pelled to  revive  Rienzi  in  order  to  maintain  my  prestige ;  and 
the  triumph  of  this  opera  compared  with  the  failure  of  the 
Dutchman  gave  me  food  for  reflection.  I  had  to  admit,  with 
some  misgivings,  that  the  success  of  my  Rienzi  was  not  entirely 
due  to  the  cast  and  staging,  although  I  was  fully  alive  to  the 
defects  from  which  the  Fliegender  Hollander  suffered  in  this 


SEASONS  OF  SUCCESS  OF  'RIENZI'    295 

respect.  Although  Wachter  was  far  from  realising  ray  con- 
ception of  the  Fliegender  Holltmdcr  I  could  not  conceal  from 
myself  the  fact  that  Tichatschek  was  quite  as  far  removed 
from  the  ideal  Rienzi.  His  abominable  errors  and  deficiencies 
in  his  presentation  of  the  part  had  never  escaped  me;  he  had 
never  been  able  to  lay  aside  his  brilliant  and  heroic  leading- 
tenor  manners  in  order  to  render  that  gloomy  demonic 
strain  in  Rienzi's  temperament  on  which  I  had  laid  unmis- 
takable stress  at  the  critical  points  of  the  drama.  In  the 
fourth  act,  after  the  pronouncement  of  the  curse,  he  fell  on  his 
knees  in  the  most  melancholy  fashion  and  abandoned  himself 
to  bewailing  his  fate  in  piteous  tones.  When  I  suggested  to 
him  that  Rienzi,  though  inwardly  despairing,  must  take  up 
an  attitude  of  statuesque  firmness  before  the  world,  he  pointed 
out  to  me  the  great  popularity  which  the  end  of  this  very 
act  had  won  as  interpreted  by  himself,  with  an  intimation  that 
he  intended  making  no  change  in  it. 

And  when  I  considered  the  real  causes  of  the  success  of 
Rienzi,  I  found  that  it  rested  on  the  brilliant  and  extraordin- 
arily fresh  voice  of  the  soaring,  happy  singer,  in  the  refreshing 
effect  of  the  chorus  and  the  gay  movement  and  colouring  on 
the  stage.  I  received  a  still  more  convincing  proof  of  this 
when  we  divided  the  opera  into  two,  and  found  that  the  second 
part,  which  was  the  more  important  from  both  the  dramatic 
and  the  musical  point  of  view,  was  noticeably  less  well  attended 
than  the  first,  for  the  very  obvious  reason,  as  I  thought,  that 
the  ballet  occurred  in  the  first  part.  My  brother  Julius,  who 
had  come  over  from  Leipzig  for  one  of  the  performances  of 
Rienzi,  gave  me  a  still  more  naive  testimony  as  to  the  real 
point  of  interest  in  the  opera.  I  was  sitting  with  him  in  an 
open  box,  in  full  sight  of  the  audience,  and  had  therefore 
begged  him  to  desist  from  giving  any  applause,  even  if  directed 
only  to  the  efforts  of  the  singers;  he  restrained  himself  all 
through  the  evening,  but  his  enthusiasm  at  a  certain  figure 
of  the  ballet  was  too  much  for  him,  and  he  clapped  loudly, 
to  the  great  amusement  of  the  audience,  telling  me  that  he 
could  not  hold  himself  in  any  longer.  Curiously  enough,  this 
same  ballet  secured  for  Rienzi,  which  was  otherwise  received 
with  indifference,  the  enduring  preference  of  the  present  King 


296  MY   LIFE 

of  Prussia,1  who  many  years  afterwards  ordered  the  revival  of 
this  opera,  although  it  had  utterly  failed  in  arousing  public 
interest  by  its  merits  as  a  drama. 

I  found,  when  I  had  to  be  present  later  on  at  a  representation 
of  the  same  opera  at  Darmstadt,  that  while  wholesale  cuts 
had  to  be  made  in  its  best  parts,  it  had  been  found  necessary 
to  expand  the  ballets  by  additions  and  repetitions.  This  ballet 
music,  which  I  had  put  together  with  contemptuous  haste  at 
Riga  in  a  few  days  without  any  inspiration,  seemed  to  me, 
moreover,  so  strikingly  weak  that  I  was  thoroughly  ashamed 
of  it  even  in  those  days  at  Dresden,  when  I  had  found  myself 
compelled  to  suppress  its  best  feature,  the  tragic  pantomime. 
Further,  the  resources  of  the  ballet  in  Dresden  did  not  even 
admit  of  the  execution  of  my  stage  directions  for  the  combat 
in  the  arena,  nor  for  the  very  significant  round  dances,  both 
admirably  carried  out  at  a  later  date  in  Berlin.  I  had  to  be 
content  with  the  humiliating  substitution  of  a  long,  foolish 
step-dance  by  two  insignificant  dancers,  which  was  ended  by 
a  company  of  soldiers  marching  on,  bearing  their  shields  on 
high  so  as  to  form  a  roof  and  remind  the  audience  of  the  Roman 
testudo;  then  the  ballet-master  with  his  assistant,  in  flesh- 
coloured  tights,  leaped  on  to  the  shields  and  turned  somer- 
saults, a  proceeding  which  they  thought  was  reminiscent  of  the 
gladiatorial  games.  It  was  at  this  point  that  the  house  was 
always  moved  to  resounding  applause,  and  I  had  to  own  that 
this  moment  marked  the  climax  of  my  success. 

I  thus  had  my  doubts  as  to  the  intrinsic  divergence  between 
my  inner  aims  and  my  outward  success;  at  the  same  time  a 
decisive  and  fatal  change  in  my  fortunes  was  brought  about 
by  my  acceptance  of  the  conductorship  at  Dresden,  under 
circumstances  as  perplexing  in  their  way  as  those  preceding 
my  marriage.  I  had  met  the  negotiations  which  led  up  to 
this  appointment  with  a  hesitation  and  a  coolness  by  no  means 
affected.  I  felt  nothing  but  scorn  for  theatrical  life;  a  scorn 
that  was  by  no  means  lessened  by  a  closer  acquaintance  with 
the  apparently  distinguished  ruling  body  of  a  court  theatre, 
the  splendours  of  which  only  conceal,  with  arrogant  ignorance, 
the  humiliating  conditions  appertaining  to  it  and  to  the  modern 

1  William  the  First. 


DISINCLINATION    TO    ACCEPT    POST         297 

theatre  in  general.  I  saw  every  noble  impulse  stifled  in  those 
occupied  with  theatrical  matters,  and  a  combination  of  the 
vainest  and  most  frivolous  interests  maintained  by  a  ridicu- 
lously rigid  and  bureaucratic  system;  I  was  now  fully  con- 
vinced that  the  necessity  of  handling  the  business  of  the  theatre 
would  be  the  most  distasteful  thing  I  could  imagine.  Now 
that,  through  Rastrelli's  death,  the  temptation  to  be  false  to 
my  inner  conviction  came  to  me  in  Dresden,  I  explained  to  my 
old  and  trusted  friends  that  I  did  not  think  I  should  accept  the 
vacant  post. 

But  everything  calculated  to  shake  human  resolution  com- 
bined against  this  decision.  The  prospect  of  securing  the 
means  of  livelihood  through  a  permanent  position  with  a  fixed 
salary  was  an  irresistible  attraction.  I  combated  the  tempta- 
tion by  reminding  myself  of  my  success  as  an  operatic  com- 
poser, which  might  reasonably  be  expected  to  bring  in  enough 
to  supply  my  moderate  requirements  in  a  lodging  of  two 
rooms,  where  I  could  proceed  undisturbed  with  fresh  com- 
positions. I  was  told  in  answer  to  this  that  my  work  itself 
would  be  better  served  by  a  fixed  position  without  arduous 
duties,  as  for  a  whole  year  since  the  completion  of  the  Fliegen- 
der  Hollander  I  had  not,  under  existing  circumstances,  found 
any  leisure  at  all  for  composition.  I  still  remained  convinced 
that  Eastrelli's  post  of  musical  director,  in  subordination 
to  the  conductor,  was  unworthy  of  me,  and  I  declined  to  enter- 
tain the  proposal,  thus  leaving  the  management  to  look  elsewhere 
for  some  one  to  fill  the  vacancy. 

There  was  therefore  no  further  question  of  this  particular 
post,  but  I  was  then  informed  that  the  death  of  Morlacchi  had 
left  vacant  a  court  conductorship,  and  it  was  thought  that  the 
King  would  be  willing  to  offer  me  the  post.  My  wife  was  very 
much  excited  at  this  prospect,  for  in  Germany  the  greatest 
value  is  laid  on  these  court  appointments,  which  are  tenable 
for  life,  and  the  dazzling  respectability  pertaining  to  them  is 
held  out  to  German  musicians  as  the  acme  of  earthly  happiness. 
The  offer  opened  up  for  us  in  many  directions  the  prospect  of 
friendly  relations  in  a  society  which  had  hitherto  been  outside 
our  experience.  Domestic  comfort  and  social  prestige  were 
very  alluring  to  the  homeless  wanderers  who,  in  bygone  days 


298  MY   LIFE 

of  misery,  had  often  longed  for  the  comfort  and  security  of  an 
assured  and  permanent  position  such  as  was  now  open  to  them 
under  the  august  protection  of  the  court.  The  influence  of 
Caroline  von  Weber  did  much  in  the  long-run  to  weaken  my 
opposition.  I  was  often  at  her  house,  and  took  great  pleasure 
in  her  society,  which  brought  back  to  my  mind  very  vividly  the 
personality  of  my  still  dearly  beloved  master.  She  begged  me 
with  really  touching  tenderness  not  to  withstand  this  obvious 
command  of  fate,  and  asserted  her  right  to  ask  me  to  settle 
in  Dresden,  to  fill  the  place  left  sadly  empty  by  her  husband's 
death.  '  Just  think,'  she  said,  '  how  can  I  look  Weber  in  the 
face  again  when  I  join  him  if  I  have  to  tell  him  that  the 
work  for  which  he  made  such  devoted  sacrifices  in  Dresden  is 
neglected;  just  imagine  my  feelings  when  I  see  that  indolent 
Reissiger  stand  in  my  noble  Weber's  place,  and  when  I  hear 
his  operas  produced  more  mechanically  every  year.  If  you 
loved  Weber,  you  owe  it  to  his  memory  to  step  into  his  place 
and  to  continue  his  work.'  As  an  experienced  woman  of  the 
world  she  also  pointed  out  energetically  and  prudently  the 
practical  side  of  the  matter,  impressing  on  me  the  duty  of 
thinking  of  my  wife,  who  would,  in  case  of  my  death,  be 
sufficiently  provided  for  if  I  accepted  the  post 

The  promptings  of  affection,  prudence  and  good  sense, 
however,  had  less  weight  with  me  than  the  enthusiastic  con- 
viction, never  at  any  period  of  my  life  entirely  destroyed,  that 
wherever  fate  led  me,  whether  to  Dresden  or  elsewhere,  I 
should  find  the  opportunity  which  would  convert  my  dreams 
into  reality  through  currents  set  in  motion  by  some  change 
in  the  everyday  order  of  events.  All  that  was  needed  for  this 
was  the  advent  of  an  ardent  and  aspiring  soul  who,  with  good 
luck  to  back  him,  might  make  up  for  lost  time,  and  by  his 
ennobling  influence  achieve  the  deliverance  of  art  from  her 
shameful  bonds.  The  wonderful  and  rapid  change  which  had 
taken  place  in  my  fortunes  could  not  fail  to  encourage  such  a 
hope,  and  I  was  seduced  on  perceiving  the  marked  alteration 
that  had  taken  place  in  the  whole  attitude  of  Liittichau,  the 
general  director,  towards  me.  This  strange  individual  showed 
me  a  kindliness  of  which  no  one  would  hitherto  have  thought 
him  capable,  and  that  he  was  prompted  by  a  genuine  feeling 


KOYAL  CONDUCTOR  OF  SAXONY  (1843)   299 

of  personal  benevolence  towards  me  I  could  not  help  being 
absolutely  convinced,  even  at  the  time  of  my  subsequent  cease- 
less differences  with  him. 

Nevertheless,  the  decision  came  as  a  kind  of  surprise.  On 
2nd  February  1843  I  was  very  politely  invited  to  the  director's 
office,  and  there  met  the  general  staff  of  the  royal  orchestra, 
in  whose  presence  Liittichau,  through  the  medium  of  my 
never-to-be-forgotten  friend  Winkler,  solemnly  read  out  to  me  a 
royal  rescript  appointing  me  forthwith  conductor  to  his  Majesty, 
with  a  life  salary  of  four  thousand  five  hundred  marks  a  year. 
Liittichau  followed  the  reading  of  this  document  by  a  more 
or  less  ceremonious  speech,  in  which  he  assumed  that  I  should 
gratefully  accept  the  King's  favour.  At  this  polite  ceremony 
it  did  not  escape  my  notice  that  all  possibility  of  future  negotia- 
tions over  the  figure  of  the  salary  was  cut  off ;  on  the  other  hand, 
a  substantial  exemption  in  my  favour,  the  omission  of  the 
condition,  enforced  even  on  Weber  in  his  time,  of  serving  a 
year's  probation  under  the  title  of  mere  musical  director,  was 
calculated  to  secure  my  unconditional  acceptance.  My  new 
colleagues  congratulated  me,  and  Liittichau  accompanied  me 
with  the  politest  phrases  to  my  own  door,  where  I  fell  into  the 
arms  of  my  poor  wife,  who  was  giddy  with  delight.  There- 
fore I  fully  realised  that  I  must  put  the  best  face  I  could  on 
the  matter,  and  unless  I  wished  to  give  unheard-of  offence,  I 
must  even  congratulate  myself  on  my  appointment  as  royal 
conductor. 

A  iew  days  after  taking  the  oath'  as  a  servant  of  the  King 
in  solemn  session,  and  undergoing  the  ceremony  of  presenta- 
tion to  the  assembled  orchestra  by  means  of  an  enthusiastic 
speech  from  the  general  director,  I  was  summoned  to  an 
audience  with  his  Majesty.  When  I  saw  the  features  of  the 
kind,  courteous,  and  homely  monarch,  I  involuntarily  thought 
of  my  youthful  attempt  at  a  political  overture  on  the  theme 
of  Friedrich  und  Freiheit.  Our  somewhat  embarrassed  con- 
versation brightened  with  the  King's  expression  of  his  satis- 
faction with  those  two  of  my  operas  which  had  been  performed 
in  Dresden.  He  expressed  with  polite  hesitation  his  feeling 
that  if  my  operas  left  anything  to  be  desired,  it  was  a  clearer 
definition  of  the  various  characters  in  my  musical  dramas.  He 


300  MY   LIFE 

thought  the  interest  in  the  persons  was  overpowered  by  the 
elemental  forces  figuring  beside  them  —  in  Rienzi  the  mob,  in 
the  Fliegender  Hollander  the  sea.  I  thought  I  understood  his 
meaning  perfectly,  and  this  proof  of  his  sincere  sympathy  and 
original  judgment  pleased  me  very  much.  He  also  made  his 
excuses  in  advance  for  a  possible  rare  attendance  at  my  operas 
on  his  part,  his  sole  reason  for  this  being  that  he  had  a  peculiar 
aversion  from  theatre-going,  as  the  result  of  one  of  the  rules  of 
his  early  training,  under  which  he  and  his  brother  John,  who 
had  acquired  a  similar  aversion,  were  for  a  long  time  compelled 
regularly  to  attend  the  theatre,  when  he,  to  tell  the  truth, 
would  often  have  preferred  to  be  left  alone  to  follow  his  own 
pursuits  independent  of  etiquette. 

As  a  characteristic  instance  of  the  courtier  spirit,  I  after- 
wards learned  that  Liittichau,  who  had  had  to  wait  for  me  in 
the  anteroom  during  this  audience,  had  been  very  much  put 
out  by  its  long  duration.  In  the  whole  course  of  my  life  I  was 
only  admitted  twice  more  to  personal  intercourse  and  speech 
with  the  good  King.  The  first  occasion  was  when  I  presented 
him  with  the  dedication  copy  of  the  pianoforte  score  of  my 
Rienzi;  and  the  second  was  after  my  very  successful  arrange- 
ment and  performance  of  the  Iphigenia  in  Aulis,  by  Gluck, 
of  whose  operas  he  was  particularly  fond,  when  he  stopped  me 
in  the  public  promenade  and  congratulated  me  on  my  work. 

That  first  audience  with  the  King  marked  the  zenith  of  my 
hastily  adopted  career  at  Dresden;  thenceforward  anxiety 
reasserted  itself  in  manifold  ways.  I  very  quickly  realised  the 
difficulties  of  my  material  situation,  since  it  soon  became 
evident  that  the  advantage  won  by  new  exertions  and  my 
present  appointment  bore  no  proportion  to  the  heavy  sacrifices 
and  obligations  which  I  incurred  as  soon  as  I  entered  on  an 
independent  career.  The  young  musical  director  of  Riga, 
long  since  forgotten,  suddenly  reappeared  in  an  astonishing 
reincarnation  as  royal  conductor  to  the  King  of  Saxony.  The 
first-fruits  of  the  universal  estimate  of  my  good  fortune  took 
the  shape  of  pressing  creditors  and  threats  of  prosecution; 
next  followed  demands  from  the  Konigsberg  tradesmen,  from 
whom  I  had  escaped  from  Riga  by  means  of  that  horribly 
wretched  and  miserable  flight.  I  also  heard  from  people  in 


MEAGRE    SUCCESS    OUTSIDE   DRESDEN      301 

the  most  distant  parts,  who  thought  they  had  some  claim  on 
me,  dating  even  from  my  student,  nay,  my  school  days,  until  at 
last  I  cried  out  in  my  astonishment  that  I  expected  to  receive 
a  bill  next  from,  the  nurse  who  had  suckled  me.  All  this 
did  not  amount  to  any  very  large  sum,  and  I  merely  mention 
it  because  of  the  ill-natured  rumours  which,  I  learned  years 
later,  had  been  spread  abroad  about  the  extent  of  my  debts 
at  that  time.  Out  of  three  thousand  marks,  borrowed  at 
interest  from  Schroder-Devrient,  I  not  only  paid  these  debts, 
but  also  fully  compensated  the  sacrifices  which  Kietz  had 
made  on  my  behalf,  without  ever  expecting  any  return,  in  the 
days  of  my  poverty  in  Paris.  I  was,  moreover,  able  to  be  of 
practical  use  to  him.  But  where  was  I  to  find  even  this  sum, 
as  my  distress  had  hitherto  been  so  great  that  I  was  obliged 
to  urge  Schroder-Devrient  to  hurry  on  the  rehearsals  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander  by  pointing  out  to  her  the  enormous 
importance  to  me  of  the  fee  for  the  performance  ?  I  had  no 
allowance  for  the  expenses  of  my  establishment  in  Dresden, 
though  it  had  to  be  suitable  for  my  position  as  royal  conductor, 
nor  even  for  the  purchase  of  a  ridiculous  and  expensive  court 
uniform,  so  that  there  would  have  been  no  possibility  of  my 
making  a  start  at  all,  as  I  had  no  private  means,  unless  I 
borrowed  money  at  interest. 

But  no  one  who  knew  of  the  extraordinary  success  of  Rienzi 
at  Dresden  could  help  believing  in  an  immediate  and  remunera- 
tive rage  for  my  operas  on  the  German  stage.  My  own  relatives, 
even  the  prudent  Ottilie,  were  so  convinced  of  it  that  they 
thought  I  might  safely  count  on  at  least  doubling  my  salary 
by  the  receipts  from  my  operas.  At  the  very  beginning  the 
prospects  did  indeed  seem  bright;  the  score  of  my  Fliegender 
Hollander  was  ordered  by  the  Royal  Theatre  at  Cassel  and  by 
the  Riga  theatre,  which  I  had  known  so  well  in  the  old  days, 
because  they  were  anxious  to  perform  something  of  mine  at  an 
early  date,  and  had  heard  that  this  opera  was  on  a  smaller 
scale,  and  made  smaller  demands  on  the  stage  management, 
than  Rienzi.  In  May,  1843  I  heard  good  reports  of  the  success 
of  the  performances  from  both  those  places.  But  this  was  all 
for  the  time  being,  and  a  whole  year  went  by  without  the 
smallest  inquiry  for  any  of  my  scores.  An  attempt  was  made 


302  MY   LIFE 

to  secure  me  some  benefit  by  the  publication  of  the  pianoforte 
score  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander,  as  I  wanted  to  reserve  Rienzi, 
after  the  successes  it  had  gained,  as  useful  capital  for  a  more 
favourable  opportunity;  but  the  plan  was  spoilt  by  the 
opposition  of  Messrs.  Hartel  of  Leipzig,  who,  although  ready 
enough  to  publish  my  opera,  would  only  do  so  on  the  condition 
that  I  abstained  from  asking  any  payment  for  it. 

So  I  had,  for  the  present,  to  content  myself  with  the  moral 
satisfaction  of  my  successes,  of  which  my  unmistakable 
popularity  with  the  Dresden  public,  and  the  respect  and  atten- 
tion paid  to  me,  formed  part.  But  even  in  this  respect  my 
Utopian  dreams  were  destined  to  be  disturbed.  I  think  that 
my  appearance  at  Dresden  marked  the  beginning  of  a  new  era 
in  journalism  and  criticism,  which  found  food  for  its  hitherto 
but  slightly  developed  vitality  in  its  vexation  at  my  success. 
The  two  gentlemen  I  have  already  mentioned,  C.  Bank  and 
J.  Schladebach,  had,  as  I  now  know,  first  taken  up  their  regular 
abode  in  Dresden  at  that  time;  I  know  that  when  difficulties 
were  raised  about  the  permanence  of  Bank's  appointment, 
they  were  waived,  owing  to  the  testimonials  and  recommenda- 
tion of  my  present  colleague  Reissiger.  The  success  of  my 
Rienzi  had  been  the  source  of  great  annoyance  to  these  gentle- 
men, who  were  now  established  as  musical  critics  to  the  Dresden 
press,  because  I  made  no  effort  to  win  their  favour ;  they  were 
not  ill-pleased,  therefore,  to  find  an  opportunity  of  pouring  out 
the  vitriol  of  their  hatred  over  the  universally  popular  young 
musician  who  had  won  the  sympathy  of  the  kindly  public, 
partly  on  account  of  the  poverty  and  ill-luck  which  had  hitherto 
been  his  lot.  The  need  for  any  kind  of  human  consideration 
had  suddenly  vanished  with  my  '  unheard-of '  appointment  to 
the  royal  conductorship.  Now  '  all  was  well  with  me,'  '  too 
well,'  in  fact;  and  envy  found  its  congenial  food;  this  pro- 
vided a  perfectly  clear  and  comprehensible  point  of  attack ;  and 
soon  there  spread  through  the  German  press,  in  the  columns 
given  to  Dresden  news,  an  estimate  of  me  which  has  never 
fundamentally  changed,  except  in  one  point,  to  this  day. 
This  single  modification,  which  was  purely  temporary  and 
confined  to  papers  of  one  political  colour,  occurred  on  my 
first  settlement  as  a  political  refugee  in  Switzerland,  but  lasted 


LAUBE  FOR  THE  DEFENCE      303 

only  until,  through  Liszt's  exertions,  my  operas  began  to  be 
produced  all  over  Germany,  in  spite  of  my  exile.  The  orders 
from  two  theatres,  immediately  after  the  Dresden  performance, 
for  one  of  my  scores,  were  merely  due  to  the  fact  that  up  to 
that  time  the  activity  of  my  journalistic  critics  was  still 
limited.  I  put  down  the  cessation  of  all  inquiries,  certainly 
not  without  due  justification,  mainly  to  the  effect  of  the  false 
and  calumnious  reports  in  the  papers. 

My  old  friend  Laube  tried,  indeed,  to  undertake  my  defence 
in  the  press.  On  New  Year's  Day,  1843  he  resumed  the 
editorship  of  the  Zeitung  fur  die  Elegante  Welt,  and  asked  me 
to  provide  him  with  a  biographical  notice  of  myself  for  the 
first  number.  It  evidently  gave  him  great  pleasure  to  present 
me  thus  in  triumph  to  the  literary  world,  and  in  order  to  give 
the  subject  more  prominence  he  added  a  supplement  to  that 
number  in  the  shape  of  a  lithograph  reproduction  of  my 
portrait  by  Kietz.  But  after  a  time  even  he  became  anxious 
and  confused  in  his  judgment  of  my  works,  when  he  saw  the 
systematic  and  increasingly  virulent  detraction,  depreciation, 
and  scorn  to  which  they  were  subjected.  He  confessed  to  me 
later  that  he  had  never  imagined  such  a  desperate  position 
as  mine  against  the  united  forces  of  journalism  could  possibly 
exist,  and  when  he  heard  my  view  of  the  question,  he  smiled 
and  gave  me  his  blessing,  as  though  I  were  a  lost  soul. 

Moreover,  a  change  was  observable  in  the  attitude  of  those 
immediately  connected  with  me  in  my  work,  and  this  provided 
very  acceptable  material  for  the  journalistic  campaign.  I  had 
been  led,  though  by  no  ambitious  impulse,  to  ask  to  be  allowed 
to  conduct  the  performances  of  my  own  works.  I  found  that 
at  every  performance  of  Rienzi  Reissiger  became  more  negligent 
in  his  conducting,  and  that  the  whole  production  was  slipping 
back  into  the  old  familiar,  expressionless,  and  humdrum  per- 
formance; and  as  my  appointment  was  already  mooted,  I  had 
asked  permission  to  conduct  the  sixth  performance  of  my 
work  in  person.  I  conducted  without  having  held  a  single 
rehearsal,  and  without  any  previous  experience,  at  the  head 
of  the  Dresden  orchestra.  The  performance  went  splendidly; 
singers  and  orchestra  were  inspired  with  new  life,  and  every- 
body was  obliged  to  admit  that  this  was  the  finest  performance 


304  MY   LIFE 

of  Rienzi  that  had  yet  been  given.  The  rehearsing  and  con- 
ducting of  the  Fliegender  Hollander  were  willingly  handed  over 
to  me,  because  Reissiger  was  overwhelmed  with  work,  in  conse- 
quence of  the  death  of  the  musical  director,  Rastrelli.  In 
addition  to  this  I  was  asked  to  conduct  Weber's  Euryanthe, 
by  way  of  providing  a  direct  proof  of  my  capacity  to  inter- 
pret scores  other  than  my  own.  Apparently  everybody  was 
pleased,  and  it  was  the  tone  of  this  performance  that  made 
Weber's  widow  so  anxious  that  I  should  accept  the  Dresden 
conductorship ;  she  declared  that  for  the  first  time  since  her 
husband's  death  she  had  heard  his  work  correctly  interpreted, 
both  in  expression  and  time. 

Thereupon,  Reissiger,  who  would  have  preferred  to  have  a 
musical  director  under  him,  but  had  received  instead  a  colleague 
on  an  equal  footing,  felt  himself  aggrieved  by  my  appointment. 
Though  his  own  indolence  would  have  inclined  him  to  the  side 
of  peace  and  a  good  understanding  with  me,  his  ambitious  wife 
took  care  to  stir  up  his  fear  of  me.  This  never  led  to  an  openly 
hostile  attitude  on  his  part,  but  I  noticed  certain  indiscretions 
in  the  press  from  that  time  onwards,  which  showed  me  that 
the  friendliness  of  my  colleague,  who  never  talked  to  me 
without  first  embracing  me,  was  not  of  the  most  honourable 
type. 

I  also  received  a  quite  unexpected  proof  that  I  had  attracted 
the  bitter  envy  of  another  man  whose  sentiments  I  had  no 
reason  to  suspect.  This  was  Karl  Lipinsky,  a  celebrated 
violinist  in  his  day,  who  had  for  many  years  led  the  Dresden 
orchestra.  He  was  a  man  of  ardent  temperament  and  original 
talent,  but  of  incredible  vanity,  which  his  emotional,  suspicious 
Polish  temperament  rendered  dangerous.  I  always  found  him 
annoying,  because  however  inspiring  and  instructive  his  playing 
was  as  to  the  technical  execution  of  the  violinists,  he  was  cer- 
tainly ill-fitted  to  be  the  leader  of  a  first-class  orchestra.  This 
extraordinary  person  tried  to  justify  Director  Liittichau's  praise 
of  his  playing,  which  could  always  be  heard  above  the  rest  of 
the  orchestra;  he  came  in  a  little  before  the  other  violins;  he 
was  a  leader  in  a  double  sense,  as  he  was  always  a  little  ahead. 
He  acted  in  much  the  same  way  with  regard  to  expression, 
marking  his  slight  variations  in  the  piano  passages  with  fanatical 


LIPINSKY'S    TREACHERY  305 

precision.  It  was  useless  to  talk  to  him  about  it,  as  nothing 
but  the  most  skilful  flattery  had  any  effect  on  him.  So  I  had 
to  endure  it  as  best  I  could,  and  to  think  out  ways  and  means 
of  diminishing  its  ill  effects  on  the  orchestral  performances  as 
a  whole  by  having  recourse  to  the  most  polite  circumlocutions. 
Even  so  he  could  not  endure  the  higher  estimation  in  which  the 
performances  of  the  orchestra  under  my  conductorship  were 
held,  because  he  thought  that  the  playing  of  an  orchestra  in 
which  he  was  the  leader  must  invariably  be  excellent,  whoever 
stood  at  the  conductor's  desk.  Now  it  happened,  as  is  always 
the  case  when  a  new  man  with  fresh  ideas  is  installed  in  office, 
that  the  members  of  the  orchestra  came  to  me  with  the  most 
varied  suggestions  for  improvements  which  had  hitherto  been 
neglected;  and  Lipinsky,  who  was  already  annoyed  about  this, 
turned  a  certain  case  of  this  kind  to  a  peculiarly  treacherous  use. 
One  of  the  oldest  contrabassists  had  died.  Lipinsky  urged 
me  to  arrange  that  the  post  should  not  be  filled  in  the  usual 
way  by  promotion  from  the  ranks  of  our  own  orchestra,  but 
should  be  given,  on  his  recommendation,  to  a  distinguished 
and  skilful  contrabassist  from  Darmstadt  named  Miiller. 
When  the  musician  whose  rights  of  seniority  were  thus 
threatened,  appealed  to  me,  I  kept  my  promise  to  Lipinsky, 
explained  my  views  about  the  abuses  of  promotion  by 
seniority,  and  declared  that,  in  accordance  with  my  sworn 
oath  to  the  King,  I  held  it  my  paramount  duty  to  consider  the 
maintenance  of  the  artistic  interests  of  the  institution  before 
everything  else.  I  then  found  to  my  great  astonishment, 
though  it  was  foolish  of  me  to  be  surprised,  that  the  whole  of 
the  orchestra  turned  upon  me  as  one  man,  and  when  the  occasion 
arose  for  a  discussion  between  Lipinsky  and  myself  as 
to  his  own  numerous  grievances,  he  actually  accused  me  of 
having  threatened,  by  my  remarks  in  the  contrabassist  case, 
to  undermine  the  well-established  rights  of  the  members  of  the 
orchestra,  whose  welfare  it  was  my  duty  to  protect.  Liittichau, 
who  was  on  the  point  of  absenting  himself  from  Dresden  for 
some  time,  was  extremely  uneasy,  as  Reissiger  was  away  on 
his  holiday,  at  leaving  musical  affairs  in  such  a  dangerous 
state  of  unrest.  The  deceit  and  impudence  of  which  I  had  been 
the  victim  was  a  revelation  to  me,  and  I  gathered  from  this 


306  MY   LIFE 

experience  the  calm  sense  necessary  to  set  the  harassed  director 
at  ease  by  the  most  conclusive  assurances  that  I  understood 
the  people  with  whom  I  had  to  deal,  and  would  act  accordingly. 
I  faithfully  kept  my  word,  and  never  again  came  into  collision 
either  with  Lipinsky  or  any  other  member  of  the  orchestra. 
On  the  contrary,  all  the  musicians  were  soon  so  firmly  attached 
to  me  that  I  could  always  pride  myself  on  their  devotion. 

From  that  day  forward,  however,  one  thing  at  least  was 
certain,  namely,  that  I  should  not  die  as  conductor  at  Dresden. 
My  post  and  my  work  at  Dresden  thenceforward  became  a 
burden,  of  which  the  occasionally  excellent  results  of  my  efforts 
made  me  all  the  more  sensible. 

My  position  at  Dresden,  however,  brought  me  one  friend 
whose  intimate  relations  with  me  long  survived  our  artistic 
collaboration  in  Dresden.  A  musical  director  was  assigned  to 
each  conductor;  he  had  to  be  a  musician  of  repute,  a  hard 
worker,  adaptable,  and,  above  all,  a  Catholic,  for  the  two 
conductors  were  Protestants,  a  cause  of  much  annoyance  to  the 
clergy  of  the  Catholic  cathedral,  numerous  positions  in  which 
had  to  be  filled  from  the  orchestra.  August  Rockel,  a  nephew 
of  Hummel,  who  sent  in  his  application  for  this  position  from 
Weimar,  furnished  evidence  of  his  suitability  under  all  these 
heads.  He  belonged  to  an  old  Bavarian  family;  his  father 
was  a  singer,  and  had  sung  the  part  of  Florestan  at  the  time 
of  the  first  production  of  Beethoven's  Fidelio,  and  had  himself 
remained  on  terms  of  close  intimacy  with  the  Master,  many 
details  about  whose  life  have  been  preserved  through  his  care. 
His  subsequent  position  as  a  teacher  of  singing  led  him  to  take 
up  theatrical  management,  and  he  introduced  German  opera 
to  the  Parisians  with  so  much  success,  that  the  credit  for  the 
popularity  of  Fidelio  and  Der  Freischiitz  with  French  audiences, 
to  whom  these  works  were  quite  unknown,  must  be  awarded  to  his 
admirable  enterprise,  which  was  also  responsible  for  Schroder- 
Devrient's  debut  in  Paris.  August  Rockel,  his  son,  who  was 
still  a  young  man,  by  helping  his  father  in  these  and  similar 
undertakings,  had  gained  practical  experience  as  a  musician. 
As  his  father's  business  had  for  some  time  even  extended  to 
England,  August  had  won  practical  knowledge  of  all  sorts  by 
contact  with  many  men  and  things,  and  in  addition  had  learned 


MY  INFLUENCE  OVER  ROCKEL     307 

French  and  English.  But  music  had  remained  his  chosen 
vocation,  and  his  great  natural  talent  justified  the  highest 
hopes  of  success.  He  was  an  excellent  pianist,  read  scores  with 
the  utmost  ease,  possessed  an  exceptionally  fine  ear,  and  had 
indeed  every  qualification  for  a  practical  musician.  As  a  com- 
poser he  was  actuated,  not  so  much  by  a  strong  impulse  to 
create,  as  the  desire  to  show  what  he  was  capable  of;  the 
success  at  which  he  aimed  was  to  gain  the  reputation  of  a  clever 
operatic  composer  rather  than  recpgnition  as  a  distinguished 
musician,  and  he  hoped  to  obtain  his  end  by  the  production 
of  popular  works.  Actuated  by  this  modest  ambition  he  had 
completed  an  opera,  Farinetti,  for  which  he  had  also  written 
the  libretto,  with  no  other  aspiration  than  that  of  attaining  the 
same  reputation  as  his  brother-in-law  Lortzing. 

He  brought  this  score  to  me,  and  begged  me  —  it  was  his  first 
visit  before  he  had  heard  one  of  my  operas  in  Dresden  —  to  play 
him  something  from  Rienzi  and  the  Fliegender  Hollander.  His 
frank,  agreeable  personality  induced  me  to  try  and  meet  his 
wishes  as  far  as  I  could,  and  I  am  convinced  that  I  soon  made 
such  a  great  and  unexpectedly  powerful  impression  on  him  that 
from  that  moment  he  determined  not  to  bother  me  further  with 
the  score  of  his  opera.  It  was  not  until  we  had  become  more 
intimate  and  had  discovered  mutual  personal  interests,  that 
the  desire  of  turning  his  work  to  account  induced  him  to  ask 
me  to  show  my  practical  friendship  by  turning  my  attention  to 
his  score.  I  made  various  suggestions  as  to  how  it  might  be 
improved,  but  he  was  soon  so  hopelessly  disgusted  with  his 
own  work  that  he  put  it  absolutely  aside,  and  never  again  felt 
seriously  moved  to  undertake  a  similar  task.  On  making  a 
closer  acquaintance  with  my  completed  operas  and  plans  for 
new  works,  he  declared  to  me  that  he  felt  it  his  vocation  to  play 
the  part  of  spectator,  to  be  my  faithful  helper  and  the  inter- 
preter of  my  new  ideas,  and,  as  far  as  in  him  lay,  to  remove 
entirely,  and  at  all  events  to  relieve  me  as  far  as  possible  from, 
all  the  unpleasantnesses  of  my  official  position  and  of  my 
dealings  with  the  outside  world.  He  wished,  he  said,  to  avoid 
placing  himself  in  the  ridiculous  position  of  composing  operas 
of  his  own  while  living  on  terms  of  close  friendship  with  me. 

Nevertheless,  I  tried  to  urge  him  to  turn  his  own  talent  to 


308  MY    LIFE 

account,  and  to  this  end  called  his  attention  to  several  plots 
which  I  wished  him  to  work  out.  Among  these  was  the  idea 
contained  in  a  small  French  drama  entitled  Cromwell's  Daugh- 
ter, which  was  subsequently  used  as  the  subject  for  a  sentimental 
pastoral  romance,  and  for  the  elaboration  of  which  I  presented 
him  with  an  exhaustive  plan. 

But  in  the  end  all  my  efforts  remained  fruitless,  and  it  became 
evident  that  his  productive  talent  was  feeble.  This  perhaps 
arose  partly  from  his  extremely  needy  and  trying  domestic 
circumstances,  which  were  such  that  the  poor  fellow  wore  him- 
self out  to  support  his  wife  and  numerous  growing  children. 
Indeed,  he  claimed  my  help  and  sympathy  in  quite  another 
fashion  than  by  arousing  my  interest  in  his  artistic  develop- 
ment. He  was  unusually  clear-headed,  and  possessed  a  rare 
capacity  for  teaching  and  educating  himself  in  every  branch 
of  knowledge  and  experience;  he  was,  moreover,  so  genuinely 
true  and  good-hearted  that  he  soon  became  my  intimate  friend 
and  comrade.  He  was,  and  continued  to  be,  the  only  person 
who  really  appreciated  the  singular  nature  of  my  position 
towards  the  surrounding  world,  and  with  whom  I  could  fully 
and  sincerely  discuss  the  cares  and  sorrows  arising  therefrom. 
What  dreadful  trials  and  experiences,  what  painful  anxie- 
ties our  common  fate  was  to  bring  upon  us,  will  soon  be 
seen. 

The  earlier  period  of  my  establishment  in  Dresden  brought 
me  also  another  devoted  and  lifelong  friend,  though  his 
qualities  were  such  that  he  exerted  a  less  decisive  influence 
upon  my  career.  This  was  a  young  physician,  named  Anton 
Pusinelli,  who  lived  near  me.  He  seized  the  occasion  of  a 
serenade  sung  in  honour  of  my  thirtieth  birthday  by  the 
Dresden  Glee  Club  to  express  to  me  personally  his  hearty  and 
sincere  attachment.  We  soon  entered  upon  a  quiet  friendship 
from  which  we  derived  a  mutual  benefit.  He  became  my 
attentive  family  doctor,  and  during  my  residence  in  Dresden, 
marked  as  it  wasjjy^ccumulating^  difficulties,  he  had  abun- 
dant opportunities  of  helping  me.  His  financial  position  was 
very  good,  and  his  ready  self-sacrifice  enabled  him  to  give  me 
substantial  succour  and  bound  me  to  him  by  many  heartfelt 
obligations. 


HENRIETTA    SONTAG  309 

A  further  development  of  my  association  with  Dresden 
society  was  provided  by  the  kindly  advances  of  Chamberlain 
von  Konneritz's  family.  His  wife,  Marie  von  Konneritz  (nee 
Fink),  was  a  friend  of  Countess  Ida  Hahn-Hahn,  and  expressed 
her  appreciation  of  my  success  as  a  composer  with  great  warmth, 
I  might  almost  say,  with  enthusiasm.  I  was  often  invited  to 
their  house,  and  seemed  likely,  through  this  family,  to  be 
brought  into  touch  with  the  higher  aristocracy  of  Dresden. 
I  merely  succeeded  in  touching  the  fringe,  however,  as  we 
really  had  nothing  in  common.  True,  I  here  made  the  acquaint- 
ance of  Countess  Rossi,  the  famous  Sontag,  by  whom, 
to  my  genuine  astonishment,  I  was  most  heartily  greeted,  and 
I  thereby  obtained  the  right  of  afterwards  approaching  her 
in  Berlin  with  a  certain  degree  of  familiarity.  The  curious 
way  in  which  I  was  disillusioned  about  this  lady  on  that 
occasion  will  be  related  in  due  course.  I  would  only  mention 
here  that,  through  my  earlier  experiences  of  the  world,  I  had 
become  fairly  impervious  to  deception,  and  my  desire  for 
closer  acquaintance  with  these  circles  speedily  gave  way  to  a 
complete  hopelessness  and  an  entire  lack  of  ease  in  their  sphere 
of  life. 

Although  the  Konneritz  couple  remained  friendly  during 
the  whole  of  my  prolonged  sojourn  in  Dresden,  yet  the  con- 
nection had  not  the  least  influence  either  upon  my  develop- 
ment or  my  position.  Only  once,  on  the  occasion  of  a  quarrel 
between  Liittichau  and  myself,  the  former  observed  that 
Frau  von  Konneritz,  by  her  unmeasured  praises,  had  turned 
my  head  and  made  me  forget  my  position  towards  him.  But 
in  making  this  taunt  he  forgot  that,  if  any  woman  in  the 
higher  ranks  of  Dresden  society  had  exerted  a  real  and  invigor- 
ating influence  upon  my  inward  pride,  that  woman  was  his  own 
wife,  Ida  von  Liittichau  (nee  von  Knobelsdorf ) . 

The  power  which  this  cultured,  gentle,  and  distinguished 
lady  exercised  over  my  life  was  of  a  kind  I  now  experienced  for 
the  first  time,  and  might  have  become  of  great  importance 
had  I  been  favoured  with  more  frequent  and  intimate  inter- 
course. But  it  was  less  her  position  as  wife  of  the  general 
director  than  her  constant  ill-health  and  my  own  peculiar 
unwillingness  to  appear  obtrusive,  that  hindered  our  meeting, 


310  MY   LIFE 

except  at  rare  intervals.  My  recollections  of  her  merge  some- 
what, in  my  memory,  with  those  of  my  own  sister  Rosalie. 
I  remember  the  tender  ambition  which  inspired  me  to  win 
the  encouraging  sympathy  of  this  sensitive  woman,  who  was 
painfully  wasting  away  amid  the  coarsest  surroundings.  My 
earliest  hope  for  the  fulfilment  of  this  ambition  arose  from  her 
appreciation  of  my  Fliegender  Hollander,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that,  following  close  upon  Rienzi,  it  had  so  puzzled  the  Dresden 
public.  In  this  way  she  was  the  first,  so  to  speak,  who  swam 
against  the  tide  and  met  me  upon  my  new  path.  So  deeply  was  I 
touched  by  this  conquest  that,  when  I  afterwards  published 
the  opera,  I  dedicated  it  to  her.  In  the  account  of  my  later 
years  in  Dresden  I  shall  have  more  to  record  of  the  warm 
sympathy  for  my  new  development  and  dearest  artistic  aims 
for  which  I  was  indebted  to  her.  But  of  real  intercourse  we 
had  none,  and  the  character  of  my  Dresden  life  was  not  affected 
by  this  acquaintance,  otherwise  so  important  in  itself. 

On  the  other  hand,  my  theatrical  acquaintances  thrust 
themselves  with  irresistible  importunancy  into  the  wide  fore- 
ground of  my  life,  and  in  fact,  after  my  brilliant  successes,  I 
was  still  restricted  to  the  same  limited  and  familiar  sphere  in 
which  I  had  prepared  myself  for  these  triumphs.  Indeed,  the 
only  one  who  joined  my  old  friends  Heine  and  Gaffer  Fischer 
was  Tichatschek,  with  his  strange  domestic  circle.  Any  one 
who  lived  in  Dresden  at  that  time  and  chanced  to  know  the 
court  lithographer,  Fiirstenau,  will  be  astonished  to  hear  that, 
without  really  being  aware  of  it  myself,  I  entered  into  a  famili- 
arity that  was  to  prove  a  lasting  one  with  this  man  who  was 
an  intimate  friend  of  Tichatschek's.  The  importance  of  this 
singular  connection  may  be  judged  from  the  fact  that  my 
complete  withdrawal  from  him  coincided  exactly  with  the 
collapse  of  my  civic  position  in  Dresden. 

My  good-humoured  acceptance  of  election  to  the  musical 
committee  of  the  Dresden  Glee  Club  also  brought  me  further 
chance  acquaintances.  This  club  consisted  of  a  limited  number 
of  young  merchants  and  officials,  who  had  more  taste 
for  any  kind  of  convivial  entertainment  than  for  music.  But 
it  was  seduously  kept  together  by  a  remarkable  and  ambitious 
man,  Professor  Lowe,  who  nursed  it  with  special  objects  in 


A   CHOKAL   FESTIVAL  311 

view,   for  the   attainment  of  which  he  felt  the  need  of  an 
authority  such  as  I  possessed  at  that  time  in  Dresden. 

Among  other  aims  he  was  particularly  and  chiefly  concerned 
in  arranging  for  the  transfer  of  Weber's  remains  from  London 
to  Dresden.  As  this  project  was  one  which  interested  me  also, 
I  lent  him  my  support,  though  he  was  in  reality  merely  follow- 
ing the  voice  of  personal  ambition.  He  furthermore  desired, 
as  head  of  the  Glee  Club  —  which,  by  the  way,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  music  was  quite  worthless  —  to  invite  all  the  male 
choral  unions  of  Saxony  to  a  great  gala  performance  in  Dresden. 
A  committee  was  appointed  for  the  execution  of  this  plan,  and 
as  things  soon  became  pretty  warm,  Lowe  turned  it  into  a 
regular  revolutionary  tribunal,  over  which,  as  the  great  day  of 
triumph  approached,  he  presided  day  and  night  without  resting, 
and  by  his  furious  zeal  earned  from  me  the  nickname  of 
*  Robespierre.' 

In  spite  of  the  fact  that  I  had  been  placed  at  the  head  of 
this  enterprise,  I  luckily  managed  to  evade  his  terrorism,  as 
I  was  fully  occupied  with  a  great  composition  promised  for  the 
festival.  The  task  had  been  assigned  to  me  of  writing  an 
important  piece  for  male  voices  only,  which,  if  possible,  should 
occupy  half  an  hour.  I  reflected  that  the  tiresome  monotony 
of  male  singing,  which  even  the  orchestra  could  only  enliven 
to  a  slight  extent,  can  only  be  endured  by  the  introduction  of 
dramatic  themes.  I  therefore  designed  a  great  choral  scene, 
selecting  the  apostolic  Pentecost  with  the  outpouring  of  the 
Holy  Ghost  as  its  subject.  I  completely  avoided  any  real  solos, 
but  worked  out  the  whole  in  such  a  way  that  it  should  be 
executed  by  detached  choral  masses  according  to  requirement. 
Out  of  this  composition  arose  my  Liebesmdhl  der  Apostel  ('Love- 
feast  of  the  Apostles'),  which  has  recently  been  performed  in 
various  places. 

As  I  was  obliged  at  all  costs  to  finish  it  within  a  limited  time,    „- 
I  do  not  mind  including  this  in  the  list  of  my  uninspired  com-      , 
positions.     But  I  was  not  displeased  with  it  when  it  was  done, 
more  especially  when  it  was  played  at  the  rehearsals  given  by 
the  Dresden  choral  societies  under  my  personal  supervision. 
When,   therefore,   twelve   hundred   singers   from   all   parts   of 
Saxony  gathered  around  me  in  the  Frauenkirche,  where  the 


312  MY   LIFE 

performance  took  place,  I  was  astonished  at  the  comparatively 
feeble  effect  produced  upon  my  ear  by  this  colossal  human 
tangle  of  sounds.  The  conclusion  at  which  I  arrived  was,  that 
these  enormous  choral  undertakings  are  folly,  and  I  never  again 
felt  inclined  to  repeat  the  experiment. 

It  was  with  much  difficulty  that  I  shook  myself  free  of  the 
Dresden  Glee  Club,  and  I  only  succeeded  in  doing  so  by  intro- 
ducing to  Professor  Lowe  another  ambitious  man  in  the  person 
of  Herr  Ferdinand  Hiller.  My  most  glorious  exploit  in  con- 
nection with  this  association  was  the  transfer  of  Weber's  ashes, 
of  which  I  will  speak  later  on,  though  it  occurred  at  an  earlier 
date.  I  will  only  refer  now  to  another  commissioned  com- 
position which,  as  royal  bandmaster,  I  was  officially  com- 
manded to  produce.  On  the  7th  of  June  of  this  year  (1843) 
the  statue  of  King  Frederick  Augustus  by  Rietschl  was 
unveiled  in  the  Dresden  Zwinger *  with  all  due  pomp  and 
ceremony.  In  honour  of  this  event  I,  in  collaboration  with 
Mendelssohn,  was  commanded  to  compose  a  festal  song,  and  to 
conduct  the  gala  performance.  I  had  written  a  simple  song 
for  male  voices  of  modest  design,  whereas  to  Mendelssohn  had 
been  assigned  the  more  complicated  task  of  interweaving  the 
National  Anthem  (the  English  '  God  Save  the  King,'  which 
in  Saxony  is  called  Heil  Dir  im  Rautenkranz)  into  the  male 
chorus  he  had  to  compose.  This  he  had  effected  by  an  artistic 
work  in  counterpoint,  so  arranged  that  from  the  first  eight 
beats  of  his  original  melody  the  brass  instruments  simultane- 
ously played  the  Anglo-Saxon  popular  air.  My  simpler  song 
seems  to  have  sounded  very  well  from  a  distance,  whereas  I 
understood  that  Mendelssohn's  daring  combination  quite 
missed  its  effect,  because  no  one  could  understand  why  the 
vocalists  did  not  sing  the  same  air  as  the  wind  instruments 
were  playing.  Nevertheless  Mendelssohn,  who  was  present,  left 
me  a  written  expression  of  thanks  for  the  pains  I  had  taken 
in  the  production  of  his  composition.  I  also  received  a  gold 
snuff-box  from  the  grand  gala  committee,  presumably  meant 
as  a  reward  for  my  male  chorus,  but  the  hunting  scene  which 
was  engraved  on  the  top  was  so  badly  done  that  I  found,  to 

1  This  is  the  name  by  which  the  famous  Dresden  Art  Galleries  are  known.  — 
EDITOR. 


COMPLETION    OF    'TANNHAUSEK'          313 

my  surprise,  that  in  several  places  the  metal  was  cut 
through. 

Amid  all  the  distractions  of  this  new  and  very  different 
mode  of  life,  I  diligently  strove  to  concentrate  and  steel  my 
soul  against  these  influences,  bearing  in  mind  my  experiences  of 
success  in  the  past.  By  May  of  my  thirtieth  year  I  had  finished 
my  poem  Der  Venusberg  ('  The  Mount  of  Venus '),  as  I  called 
TannhaMser  at  that  time.  I  had  not  yet  by  any  means  gained 
any  real  knowledge  of  mediaeval  poetry.  The  classical  side  of 
the  poetry  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  so  far  only  faintly  dawned 
upon  me,  partly  from  my  youthful  recollections,  and  partly 
from  the  brief  acquaintance  I  had  made  with  it  through  Lehrs' 
instruction  in  Paris. 

Now  that  I  was  secure  in  the  possession  of  a  royal  appoint- 
ment that  would  last  my  lifetime,  the  establishment  of  a 
permanent  domestic  hearth  began  to  assume  great  importance; 
for  I  hoped  it  would  enable  me  to  take  up  my  serious  studies 
once  more,  and  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  them  productive  — 
an  aim  which  my  theatrical  life  and  the  miseries  of  my  years 
in  Paris  had  rendered  impossible.  My  hope  of  being  able  to  do 
this  was  strengthened  by  the  character  of  my  official  employ- 
ment, which  was  never  very  arduous,  and  in  which  I  met 
with  exceptional  consideration  from  the  general  management. 
Though  I  had  only  held  my  appointment  for  a  few  months,  yet 
I  was  given  a  holiday  this  first  summer,  which  I  spent  in  a 
second  visit  to  Toplitz,  a  place  which  I  had  grown  to  like,  and 
whither  I  had  sent  on  my  wife  in  advance. 

Keenly  indeed  did  I  appreciate  the  change  in  my  position 
since  the  preceding  year.  I  could  now  engage  four  spacious 
and  well-appointed  rooms  in  the  same  house  —  the  Eiche  at 
Schonau  —  where  I  had  before  lived  in  such  straitened  and 
frugal  circumstances.  I  invited  my  sister  Clara  to  pay  us  a 
visit,  and  also  my  good  mother,  whose  gout  necessitated  her 
taking  the  Toplitz  baths  every  year.  I  also  seized  the  oppor- 
tunity of  drinking  the  mineral  waters,  which  I  hoped  might 
have  a  beneficial  effect  on  the  g;  is trie  troubles  from  which  I 
had  suffered  ever  since  my  vicissitudes  in  Paris.  Unfortu- 
nately the  attempted  cure  had  a  contrary  effect,  and  when  I 
complained  of  the  painful  irritation  produced,  I  learned  that  my 


314  MY   LIFE 

constitution  was  not  adapted  for  water  cures.  In  fact,  on 
my  morning  promenade,  and  while  drinking  my  water,  I  had 
been  observed  to  race  through  the  shady  alleys  of  the  adjacent 
Thurn  Gardens,  and  it  was  pointed  out  to  me  that  such  a  cure 
could  only  be  properly  wrought  by  leisurely  calm  and  easy 
sauntering.  It  was  also  remarked  that  I  usually  carried  about 
a  fairly  stout  volume,  and  that,  armed  with  this  and  my  bottle 
of  mineral  water,  I  used  to  take  rest  in  lonely  places. 

This  book  was  J.  Grimm's  German  Mythology.  All  who  know 
the  work  can  understand  how  the  unusual  wealth  of  its  con- 
tents, gathered  from  every  side,  and  meant  almost  exclusively 
for  the  student,  would  react  upon  me,  whv,se  mind  was  every- 
where seeking  for  something  definite  and  distinct.  Formed 
from  the  scanty  fragments  of  a  perished  world,  of  which  scarcely 
any  monuments  remained  recognisable  and  intact,  I  here  found 
a  heterogeneous  building,  which  at  first  glance  seemed  but  a 
rugged  rock  clothed  in  straggling  brambles.  Nothing  was 
finished,  only  here  and  there  could  the  slightest  resemblance 
to  an  architectonic  line  be  traced,  so  that  I  often  felt  tempted 
to  relinquish  the  thankless  task  of  trying  to  build  from  such 
materials.  And  yet  I  was  enchained  by  a  wondrous  magic. 
The  baldest  legend  spoke  to  me  of  its  ancient  home,  and  soon 
my  whole  imagination  thrilled  with  images;  long-lost  forms 
for  which  I  had  sought  so  eagerly  shaped  themselves  ever  more 
and  more  clearly  into  realities  that  lived  again.  There 
rose  up  soon  before  my  mind  a  whole  world  of  figures,  which 
revealed  themselves  as  so  strangely  plastic  and  primitive,  that, 
when  I  saw  them  clearly  before  me  and  heard  their  voices  in  my 
heart,  I  could  not  account  for  the  almost  tangible  familiarity 
and  assurance  of  their  demeanour.  The  effect  they  produced 
upon  the  inner  state  of  my  soul  I  can  only  describe  as 
an  entire  rebirth.  Just  as  we  feel  a  tender  joy  over  a  child's 
first  bright  smile  of  recognition,  so  now  my  own  eyes  flashed 
with  rapture  as  I  saw  a  world,  revealed,  as  it  were,  by  miracle, 
in  which  I  had  hitherto  moved  blindly  as  the  babe  in  its  mother's 
womb. 

But  the  result  of  this  reading  did  not  at  first  do  much  to  help 
me  in  my  purpose  of  composing  part  of  the  Tannhduser  music. 
I  had  had  a  piano  put  in  my  room  at  the  Eiche,  and  though 


.J^>  OUR   NEW   HOME  315 

I  smashed—  all  -ite  strings,  nothing  satisfactory  would  emerge. 
With  much  pain  and  toil  I  sketched  the  first  outlines  of  my 
music  for  the  Venusberg,  as  fortunately  I  already  had  its  theme 
in  my  mind.  Meanwhile  I  was  very  much  troubled  by  excita- 
bility and  rushes  of  blood  to  the  brain.  I  imagined  I  was  ill, 
and  lay  for  whole  days  in  bed,  where  I  read  Grimm's  German 
legends,  or  tried  to  master  the  disagreeable  mythology.  It 
was  quite  a  relief  when  I  hit  upon  the  happy  thought  of  freeing 
myself  from  the  torments  of  my  condition  by  an  excursion  to 
Prague.  Meanwhile  I  had  already  ascended  Mount  Millischau 
once  with  my  wife,  and  in  her  company  I  now  made  the  journey 
to  Prague  in  an  open  carriage.  There  I  stayed  once  more  at 
my  favourite  inn,  the  Black  Horse,  met  my  friend  Kittl,  who 
had  now  grown  fat  and  rotund,  made  various  excursions, 
revelled  in  the  curious  antiquities  of  the  old  city,  and  learned 
to  my  joy  that  the  two  lovely  friends  of  my  youth,  Jenny  and 
Auguste  Pachta,  had  been  happily  married  to  members  of  the 
highest  aristocracy.  Thereupon,  having  reassured  myself  that 
everything  was  in  the  best  possible  order,  I  returned  to  Dresden 
and  resumed  my  functions  as  musical  conductor  to  the  King  of 
Saxony. 

We  now  set  to  work  on  the  preparations  and  furnishing 
of  a  roomy  and  well-situated  house  in  the  Ostra  Alice,  with 
an  outlook  upon  the  Zwinger.  Everything  was  good  and  sub- 
stantial, as  is  only  right  for  a  man  of  thirty  who  is  settling 
down  at  last  for  the  whole  of  his  life.  As  I  had  not  received  any 
subsidy  towards  this  outlay,  I  had  naturally  to  raise  the  money 
by  loan.  But  I  could  look  forward  to  a  certain  harvest  from 
my  operatic  successes  in  Dresden,  and  what  was  more  natural 
than  for  me  to  expect  soon  to  earn  more  than  enough?  The 
three  most  valued  treasures  which  adorned  my  house  were  a 
concTBft^gran3~piano  Dy  ±5reitkopf  and  Hartel,  which  I  had 
bought  with  much  pride  ;  a  stately  writing-desk,  now  in  pos- 


session of  Otto  Kummer,  the  chamber-music  artist;  and  the 
title-page  by  Cornelius  ^or  the  Nibelungen,  in  a  handsome 
Gothic  frame  —  the  only  object  which  1]pa  j-mnfMTipd  -faithful  to 
iQg  to  the  present  day.  Jffut  the  thing  which  above  all  else 
made  my  house  seem"  homelike  and  attractive  was  the  presence 
of  a  library,  which  I  procured  in  accordance  with  a  systematic 


316  MY   LIFE 

plan  laid  down  by  my  proposed  line  of  study.  On  the  failure 
of  my  Dresden  career  this  library  passed  in  a  curious  way  into 
the  possession  of  Herr  Heinrich  Brockhaus,  to  whom  at  that 
time  I  owed  fifteen  hundred  marks,  and  who  took  it  as  security 
for  the  amount.  My  wife  knew  nothing  at  the  time  of  this 
obligation,  and  I  never  afterwards  succeeded  in  recovering  this 
characteristic  collection  from  his  hands.  Upon  its  shelves 
old  German  literature  was  especially  well  represented,  and  also 

_the  "closely  related  work  of  tfrp  firman  Middle  A^s.  including 
many  a  costly  volume,  as,  for  instance,  the  rare  old  work, 
Romans  des  douze  Paris.  Beside  these  stood  many  excellent 
historical  works  on  the  Middle  Ages,  as  well  as  on  the  German 
people  in  general.  At  the  same  time  I  made  provision  for  the 
poetical  and  classical  literature  of  all  times  and  languages. 
Among  these  were  the  Italian  poets,  Shakespeare  and  the  Ereach_. 
writers,  <>f  whose  hminuiire  I  had  a  passable  knowledge.  All 
these  I  acquired  in  the  original,  hoping  some  day  to  find  time 
to  master  their  neglected  tongues.  As  for  the  Greek  and  Roman 

^classics,  I  had  to  content  myself  with  standard  German  trans- 
lations. Indeed,  on  looking  once  more  into  my  Homer  —  whom 
I  secured  in  the  original  Greek  —  I  soon  recognised  that  I  should 
be  presuming  on  more  leisure  than  my  conductorship  was  likely 
to  leave  me,  if  I  hoped  to  find  time  for  regaining  my  lost  know- 
ledge of  that  language.  Moreover,  I  provided  most  thoroughly 
for  a  study  of  universal  history,  and  to  this  end  did  not  fail  to 
equip  myself  with  the  most  voluminous  works.  Thus  armed, 
I  thought  I  could  bid  defiance  to  all  the  trials  which  I  clearly 
foresaw  would  inevitably  accompany  my  calling  and  position. 
In  hopes,  therefore,  of  long  and  peaceable  enjoyment  of  this 
h#rd-earned  home,  I  entered  into  possession  with  the  best  of 
spirits  in  October  of  this  year  (1843),  and  though  my  con- 
ductor's quarters  were  by  no  means  magnificent,  they  were 
stately  and  substantial. 

The  first  leisure  in  my  new  home  which  I  could  snatch  from 
the   claims  of  my  profession   and  my  favourite   studies  -wa,s 
*n  t1"  r  11111  ifii  lii  -ii  nf  Tannfifiurrr,  the  first  act  of  which 


was  completed  in  January  of  the  new  year,  1844.  I  have 
no  recollections  of  any  importance  regarding  my  activities  in 
Dresden  during  this  winter.  The  only  memorable  events  were 


'FLIEGENDER   HOLLANDER'    IN   BERLIN     31T. 

two  enterprises  which  took  me  away  from  home,  the  first  to 
Berlin  early  in  the  year,  for  the  production  of  my  Fliegender 
Hollander,  and  the  other  in  March  to  Hamburg  for  Rienzi. 

Of  these  the  former  made  the  greater  impression  upon  my 
mind.  The  manager  of  the  Berlin  theatre,  Kiistner,  quite  took 
me  by  surprise  when  he  announced  the  first  performance  of 
the  Fliegender  Hollander  for  an  early  date. 

As  the  opera  house  had  been  burnt  down  only  about  a  year 
before,  and  could  not  possibly  have  been  rebuilt,  it  had  not 
occurred  to  me  to  remind  them  about  the  production  of  my 
opera.  It  had  been  performed  in  Dresden  with  very  poor 
scenic  accessories,  and  knowing  how  important  a  careful  and 
artistic  execution  of  the  difficult  scenery  was  for  my  dramatic 
sea-scapes,  I  had  relied  implicitly  on  the  admirable  manage- 
ment and  staging  capacities  of  the  Berlin  opera  house.  Conse- 
quently I  was  very  much  annoyed  that  the  Berlin  manager 
should  select  my  opera  as  a  stopgap  to  be  produced  at  the 
Comedy  Theatre,  which  was  being  used  as  a  temporary  opera 
house.  All  remonstrances  proved  useless,  for  I  learned  that 
they  were  not  merely  thinking  about  rehearsing  the  work,  but 
that  it  was  already  actually  being  rehearsed,  and  would  be 
produced  in  a  few  days.  It  was  obvious  that  this  arrangement 
meant  that  my  opera  was  to  be  condemned  to  quite  a  short 
run  in  their  repertoire,  as  it  was  not  to  be  expected  that  they 
would  remount  it  when  the  new  opera  house  was  opened.  On 
the  other  hand,  they  tried  to  appease  me  by  saying  that  this 
first  production  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander  was  to  be  associated 
with  a  special  engagement  of  Schrb'der-Devrient,  which  was  to 
begin  in  Berlin  immediately.  They  naturally  thought  I  should 
be  delighted  to  see  the  great  actress  in  my  own  work.  But  this 
only  confirmed  me  in  the  suspicion  that  this  opera  was  simply 
wanted  as  a  makeshift  for  the  duration  of  Schrb'der-Devrient's 
visit.  They  were  evidently  in  a  dilemma  with  regard  to  her 
repertoire,  which  consisted  mainly  of  so-called  grand  operas  — 
such  as  Meyerbeer's  —  destined  exclusively  for  the  opera  house, 
and  which  were  being  specially  reserved  for  the  brilliant  future 
of  the  new  building.  I  therefore  realised  beforehand  that  my 
Fliegender  Hollander  was  to  be  relegated  to  the  category  of  con- 
ductor's operas,  and  would  meet  with  the  usual  predestined 


318  MY   LIFE 

fate  of  such  productions.  The  whole  treatment  meted  out  to 
me  and  my  works  all  pointed  in  the  same  direction;  but  in 
consideration  of  the  expected  co-operation  of  Schroder-Devrient 
I  fought  against  these  vexatious  premonitions,  and  set  out  for 
Berlin  to  do  all  I  could  for  the  success  of  my  opera.  I  saw  at 
once  that  my  presence  was  very  necessary.  I  found  the  con- 
ductor's desk  occupied  by  a  man  calling  himself  Conductor 
Henning  (or  Henniger),  an  official  who  had  won  promotion  from 
the  ranks  of  ordinary  musicians  by  an  upright  observance  of 
the  laws  of  seniority,  but  who  knew  precious  little  about  con- 
ducting an  orchestra  at  all,  and  about  my  opera  had  not  the 
faintest  glimmer  of  an  idea.  I  took  my  seat  at  the  desk,  and 
conducted  one  full  rehearsal  and  two  performances,  in  neither 
of  which,  however,  did  Schroder-Devrient  take  part.  Although 
I  found  much  to  complain  of  in  the  weakness  of  the  string 
instruments  and  the  consequent  mean  sound  of  the  orchestra, 
yet  I  was  well  satisfied  with  the  actors  both  as  regards  their 
capacity  and  their  zeal.  The  careful  staging,  moreover, 
which  under  the  supervision  of  the  really  gifted  stage  manager, 
Blum,  and  with  the  co-operation  of  his  skilful  and  ingenious 
mechanics,  was  truly  excellent,  gave  me  a  most  pleasant 
surprise. 

I  was  now  very  curious  to  learn  what  effect  these  pleasing 
and  encouraging  preparations  would  have  upon  the  Berlin 
public  when  the  full  performance  took  place.  My  experiences 
on  this  point  were  very  curious.  Apparently  the  only  thing 
that  interested  the  large  audience  was  to  discover  my  weak 
points.  During  the  first  act  the  prevalent  opinion  seemed  to 
be  that  I  belonged  to  the  category  of  bores.  Not  a  single  hand 
was  moved,  and  I  was  afterwards  informed  that  this  was  for- 
tunate, as  the  slightest  attempt  at  applause  would  have  been 
ascribed  to  a  paid  claque,  and  would  have  been  energetically 
opposed.  Kiistner  alone  assured  me  that  the  composure  with 
which,  on  the  close  of  this  act,  I  quitted  my  desk  and  appeared 
before  the  curtain,  had  filled  him  with  wonder,  considering  this 
entire  absence  —  lucky  as  it  appears  to  have  been  —  of  all  ap- 
plause. But  so  long  as  I  myself  felt  content  with  the  execution, 
I  was  not  disposed  to  let  the  public  apathy  discourage  me, 
knowing,  as  I  did,  that  the  crucial  test  was  in  the  second  act. 


THE  'FLIEGENDER  HOLLANDER'  IN  BERLIN    319 

It  lay,  therefore,  much  nearer  my  heart  to  do  all  I  could  for 
the  success  of  this  than  to  inquire  into  the  reasons  for  this 
attitude  on  the  part  of  the  Berlin  public.  And  here  the  ice  was 
really  broken  at  last.  The  audience  seemed  to  abandon  all  A*1 
idea  of  finding  a  proper  niche  for  me,  and  allowed  itself  to  be 
carried  away  into  giving  vent  to  applause,  which  at  last  grew 
into  the  most  boisterous  enthusiasm.  At  the  close  of  the  act, 
amid  a  storm  of  shouts,  I  led  forward  my  singers  on  to  the  stage 
for  the  customary  bows  of  thanks.  As  the  third  act  was  too 
short  to  be  tedious,  and  as  the  scenic  effects  were  both  new 
and  impressive,  we  could  not  help  hoping  that  we  had  won  a 
veritable  triumph,  especially  as  renewed  outbursts  of  applause 
marked  the  end  of  the  performance.  Mendelssohn,  who  hap- 
pened at  that  time  to  be  in  Berlin,  with  Meyerbeer,  on  busi- 
ness relating  to  the  general  musical  conductorship,  was  pres- 
ent in  a  stage  box  during  this  performance.  He  followed  its 
progress  with  a  pale  face,  and  afterwards  came  and  murmured 
to  me  in  a  weary  tone  of  voice,  '  Well,  I  should  think  you 
are  satisfied  now !  '  I  met  him  several  times  during  my  brief 
stay  in  Berlin,  and  also  spent  an  evening  with  him  listening 
to  various  pieces  of  chamber-music.  But  never  did  another 
word  concerning  the  Fliegender  Hollander  pass  his  lips,  beyond 
inquiries  as  to  the  second  performance,  and  as  to  whether 
Devrient  or  some  one  else  would  appear  in  it.  I  heard,  more- 
over, that  he  had  responded  with  equal  indifference  to  the 
earnest  warmth  of  my  allusions  to  his  own  music  for  the  Mid- 
summer Night's  Dream,  which  was  being  frequently  played 
at  that  time,  and  which  I  had  heard  for  the  first  time.  The 
only  thing  he  discussed  with  any  detail  was  the  actor  Gern,  who 
was  playing  in  Zettel,  and  who  he  considered  was  overacting 
his  part. 

A  few  days  later  came  a  second  performance  with  the  same 
cast.  My  experiences  on  this  evening  were  even  more  startling 
than  on  the  former.  Evidently  the  first  night  had  won  me  a 
few  friends,  who  were  again  present,  for  they  began  to  applaud 
after  the  overture.  But  others  responded  with  hisses,  and  for 
the  rest  of  the  evening  no  one  again  ventured  to  applaud.  My 
old  friend  Heine  had  arrived  in  the  meantime  from  Dresden^ 
sent  by  our  own  board  of  directors  to  study  the  scenic  arrange- 


320  MY   LIFE 

merits  of  the  Midsummer  Night's  Dream  for  our  theatre.  Ho 
was  present  at  this  second  performance,  and  had  persuaded 
me  to  accept  the  invitation  from  one  of  his  Berlin  relatives  to 
have  supper  after  the  performance  in  a  wine-bar  unter  den 
Linden.  Very  weary,  I  followed  him  to  a  nasty  and  badly 
lighted  house,  where  I  gulped  down  the  wine  with  hasty  ill- 
humour  to  warm  myself,  and  listened  to  the  embarrassed  con- 
versation of  my  good-natured  friend  and  his  companion,  whilst 
I  turned  over  the  day's  papers.  I  now  had  ample  leisure  to 
read  the  criticisms  they  contained  on  the  first  performance  of 
my  Fliegender  Hollander.  A  terrible  spasm  cut  my  heart  as 
I  realised  the  contemptible  tone  and  unparalleled  shamelessness 
of  their  raging  ignorance  regarding  my  own  name  and  work. 
Our  Berlin  friend  and  host,  a  thorough  Philistine,  said  that  he 
had  known  how  things  would  go  in  the  theatre  that  night,  after 
having  read  these  criticisms  in  the  morning.  The  people  of 
Berlin,  he  added,  wait  to  hear  what  Rellstab  and  his  mates 
have  to  say,  and  then  they  know  how  to  behave.  The  good 
fellow  was  anxious  to  cheer  me  up,  and  ordered  one  wine  after 
another.  Heine  hunted  up  his  reminiscences  of  our  merry 
Rienzi  times  in  Dresden,  until  at  last  the  pair  conducted  me, 
staggering  along  in  an  addled  condition,  to  my  hotel. 

It  was  already  midnight.  As  I  was  being  lighted  by  the 
waiter  through  its  gloomy  corridors  to  my  room,  a  gentleman 
in  black,  with  a  pale  refined  face,  came  forward  and  said  he 
would  like  to  speak  to  me.  He  informed  me  that  he  had 
waited  there  since  the  close  of  the  play,  and  as  he  was  deter- 
mined to  see  me,  had  stopped  till  now.  I  excused  myself  on 
the  ground  of  being  quite  unfit  for  business,  and  added  that, 
although  not  exactly  inclined  to  merriment,  I  had,  as  he  might 
perceive,  somewhat  foolishly  drunk  a  little  too  much  wine. 
This  I  said  in  a  stammering  voice;  but  my  strange  visitor 
seemed  only  the  more  unwilling  to  be  repulsed.  He  accom- 
panied me  to  my  room,  declaring  that  it  was  all  the  more  im- 
perative for  him  to  speak  with  me.  We  seated  ourselves  in 
the  cold  room,  by  the  meagre  light  of  a  single  candle,  and  then 
he  began  to  talk.  In  flowing  and  impressive  language  he  re- 
lated that  he  had  been  present  at  the  performance  that  night 
of  my  Fliegender  Hollander,  and  could  well  conceive  the  humour 


A   MIDNIGHT    VISITOR  321 

in  which  the  evening's  experiences  had  left  me.  For  this  very 
reason  he  felt  that  nothing  should  hinder  him  from  speaking 
to  me  that  night,  and  telling  me  that  in  the  Fliegender  Hollander 
I  had  produced  an  unrivalled  masterpiece.  Moreover,  the 
acquaintance  he  had  made  with  this  work  had  awakened  in 
him  a  new  and  unforeseen  hope  for  the  future  of  German  art; 
and  that  it  would  be  a  great  pity  if  I  yielded  to  any  sense  of 
discouragement  as  the  result  of  the  unworthy  reception  accorded 
to  it  by  the  Berlin  public.  My  hair  began  to  stand  on  end. 
One  of  Hoffmann's  fantastic  creations  had  entered  bodily  into 
my  life.  I  could  find  nothing  to  say,  except  to  inquire  the  name 
of  my  visitor,  at  which  he  seemed  surprised,  as  I  had  talked 
with  him  the  day  before  at  Mendelssohn's  house.  He  said  that 
my  conversation  and  manner  had  created  such  an  impression 
upon  him  there,  and  had  filled  him  with  such  sudden  regret  at 
not  having  sufficiently  overcome  his  dislike  for  opera  in  general, 
to  be  present  at  the  first  performance,  that  he  had  at  once 
resolved  not  to  miss  the  second.  His  name,  he  added,  was 
Professor  Werder.  That  was  no  use  to  me,  I  said,  he  must 
write  his  name  down.  Getting  paper  and  ink,  he  did  as  I  de- 
sired, and  we  parted.  I  flung  myself  unconsciously  on  the  bed 
for  a  deep  and  invigorating  sleep.  Xext  morning  I  was  fresh 
and  well.  I  paid  a  farewell  call  on  Schroder-Devrient,  who 
promised  me  to  do  all  she  could  for  the  Fliegender  Hollander  as 
soon  as  possible,  drew  my  fee  of  a  hundred  ducats,  and  set  off 
for  home.  On  my  way  through  Leipzig  I  utilised  my  ducats 
for  the  repayment  of  sundry  advances  made  me  by  my  relatives 
during  the  earlier  and  poverty-stricken  period  of  my  sojourn 
in  Dresden,  and  then  continued  my  journey,  to  recuperate 
among  my  books  and  meditate  upon  the  deep  impression  made 
on  me  by  Werder's  midnight  visit. 

Before  the  end  of  this  winter  I  received  a  genuine  invitation 
to  Hamburg  for  the  performance  of  Rienzi.  The  enterprising 
director,  Herr  Cornet,  through  whom  it  came,  confessed  that 
he  had  many  difficulties  to  contend  against  in  the  management 
of  his  theatre,  and  was  in  need  of  a  great  success.  This,  after 
the  reception  with  which  it  had  met  in  Dresden,  he  thought 
he  could  secure  by  the  production  of  Rienzi.  I  accordingly 
betook  myself  thither  in  the  month  of  March.  The  journey 


322  MY   LIFE 

at  that  time  was  not  an  easy  one,  as  after  Hanover  one  had 
to  proceed  by  mail-coach,  and  the  crossing  of  the  Elbe,  which 
was  full  of  floating  ice,  was  a  risky  business.  Owing  to  a  great 
fire  that  had  recently  broken  out,  the  town  of  Hamburg  was  in 
process  of  being  rebuilt,  and  there  were  still  many  wide  spaces 
encumbered  with  ruins.  Cold  weather  and  an  ever-gloomy 
eky  make  my  recollections  of  my  somewhat  prolonged  sojourn 
in  this  town  anything  but  agreeable.  I  was  tormented  to  such 
an  extent  by  having  to  rehearse  with  bad  material,  fit  only 
for  the  poorest  theatrical  trumpery,  that,  worn  out  and  exposed 
to  constant  colds,  I  spent  most  of  my  leisure  time  in  the  solitude 
of  my  inn  chamber.  My  earlier  experiences  of  ill-arranged  and 
badly  managed  theatres  came  back  to  me  afresh.  I  was 
particularly  depressed  when  I  realised  that  I  had  made  myself 
an  unconscious  accomplice  of  Director  Cornet's  basest  interests. 
His  one  aim  was  to  create  a  sensation,  which  he  thought 
should  be  of  great  service  to  me  also ;  and  not  only  did  he  put 
me  off  with  a  smaller  fee,  but  even  suggested  that  it  should  be 
paid  by  gradual  instalments.  The  dignity  of  scenic  decoration, 
of  which  he  had  not  the  smallest  idea,  was  completely  sacri- 
ficed to  the  most  ridiculous  and  tawdry  showiness.  He 
imagined  that  pageantry  was  all  that  was  really  needed  to 
secure  my  success.  So  he  hunted  out  all  the  old  fairy-ballet 
costumes  from  his  stock,  and  fancied  that  if  they  only  looked 
gay  enough,  and  if  plenty  of  people  were  bustling  about  on  the 
stage,  I  ought  to  be  satisfied.  But  the  most  sorry  item  of  all 
was  the  singer  he  provided  for  the  title-role.  He  was  a  man  of 
the  name  of  Wurda,  an  elderly,  flabby  and  voiceless  tenor,  who 
sang  Rienzi  with  the  expression  of  a  lover  —  like  Elvino,  for 
instance,  in  the  Somnambula.  He  was  so  dreadful  that  I 
conceived  the  idea  of  making  the  Capitol  tumble  down  in  the 
second  act,  so  as  to  bury  him  sooner  in  its  ruins,  a  plan  which 
would  have  cut  out  several  of  the  processions,  which  were  so 
dear  to  the  heart  of  the  director.  I  found  my  one  ray  of  light 
in  a  lady  singer,  who  delighted  me  with  the  fire  with  which 
she  played  the  part  of  Adriano.  This  was  a  Mme.  Fehringer, 
who  was  afterwards  engaged  by  Liszt  for  the  role  of  Ortrud 
in  the  production  of  Lohengrin  at  Weimar,  but  by  that  time 
her  powers  had  greatly  deteriorated.  Nothing  could  be  more 


OUR   PARROT   AND    DOG  323 

depressing  than  my  connection  with  this  opera  under  such 
dismal  circumstances.  And  yet  there  were  no  outward  signs 
of  failure.  The  manager  hoped  in  any  case  to  keep  Rienzi  in 
his  repertoire  until  Tichatschek  was  able  to  come  to  Hamburg 
and  give  the  people  of  that  town  a  true  idea  of  the  play.  This 
actually  took  place  in  the  following  summer. 

My  discouragement  and  ill-humour  did  not  escape  the  notice 
of  Herr  Cornet,  and  discovering  that  I  wished  to  present  my 
wife  with  a  parrot,  he  managed  to  procure  a  very  fine  bird, 
which  he  gave  me  as  a  parting  gift.  I  carried  it  with  me  in 
its  narrow  cage  on  my  melancholy  journey  home,  and  was 
touched  to  find  that  it  quickly  repaid  my  care  and  became 
very  much  attached  to  me.  Minna  greeted  me  with  great 
joy  when  she  saw  this  beautiful  grey  parrot,  for  she  regarded 
it  as  a  self-evident  proof  that  I  should  do  something  in  life. 
We  already  had  a  pretty  little  dog,  born  on  the  day  of  the  first 
Rienzi  rehearsal  in  Dresden,  which,  owing  to  its  passionate 
devotion  to  myself,  was  much  petted  by  all  who  knew  me  and 
visited  my  house  during  those  years.  This  sociable  bird, 
which  had  no  vices  and  was  an  apt  scholar,  now  formed  an 
addition  to  our  household;  and  the  pair  did  much  to  brighten 
our  dwelling  JJL  the  absent^  of  cjiildren.  My  wife  soon  taught 
the  bird  snatches  of  songs  from  Rienzi,  with  which  it  would 
good-naturedly  greet  me  from  a  distance  when  it  heard  me 
coming  up  the  stairs. 

And  thus  at  last  my  domestic  hearth  seemed  to  be  estab- 
lished with  every  possible  prospect  of  a  comfortable  competency. 

No  further  excursions  for  the  performance  of  any  of  my 
operas  took  place,  for  the  simple  reason  that  no  such  perform- 
ances were  given.  As  I  saw  it  was  quite  clear  that  the  diffu- 
sion of  my  works  through  the  theatrical  world  would  be  a  very 
slow  business,  I  concluded  that  this  was  probably  due  to  the 
fact  that  no  adaptations  of  them  for  the  piano  existed.  I 
therefore  thought  that  I  should  do  well  to  press  forward  such 
an  issue  at  all  costs,  and  in  order  to  secure  the  expected  profits, 
I  hit  upon  the  idea  of  publishing  at  my  own  expense.  I 
accordingly  made  arrangements  with  F.  Meser,  the  court 
music-dealer,  who  had  hitherto  not  got  beyond  the  publication 
of  a  valse,  and  signed  an  agreement  with  him  for  his  firm  to 


324  MY   LIFE 

appear  as  the  nominal  publishers  on  the  understanding  that 
they  should  receive  a  commission  of  ten  per  cent.,  whilst  I 
provided  the  necessary  capital. 

As  there  were  two  operas  to  be  issued,  including  Rienzi,  a 
work  of  exceptional  bulk,  it  was  not  likely  that  these  publica- 
tions would  prove  very  profitable  unless,  in  addition  to  the 
usual  piano  selections,  I  also  published  adaptations,  such  as 
the  music  without  words,  for  duet  or  solo.  For  this  a  fairly 
large  capital  was  necessary.  I  also  needed  funds  for  the  repay- 
ment of  the  loans  already  mentioned,  and  for  the  settlement  of 
old  debts,  as  well  as  to  pay  off  the  remaining  expenses  of  my 
house-furnishing.  I  was  therefore  obliged  to  try  and  procure 
much  larger  sums.  I  laid  my  project  and  its  motive  before 
Schroder-Devrient,  who  had  just  returned  to  Dresden,  at  Easter, 
1844,  to  fulfil  a  fresh  engagement  She  believed  in  the  future 
of  my  works,  recognised  the  peculiarity  of  my  position,  as  well 
as  the  correctness  of  my  calculations,  and  declared  her  willing- 
ness to  provide  the  necessary  capital  for  the  publication  of 
my  operas,  refusing  to  consider  the  act  as  one  involving  any 
sacrifice  on  her  part.  This  money  she  proposed  to  get  by 
selling  out  her  investments  in  Polish  state-bonds,  and  I  was 
to  pay  the  customary  rate  of  interest.  The  thing  was  so  easily 
done,  and  seemed  so  much  a  matter  of  course,  that  I  at  once 
made  all  needful  arrangements  with  my  Leipzig  printer,  and 
set  to  work  on  the  publication  of  my  operas. 

When  the  amount  of  work  delivered  brought  with  it  a 
demand  for  considerable  payments  on  account,  I  approached 
my  friend  for  a  first  advance.  And  here  I  became  confronted 
with  a  new  phase  of  that  famous  lady's  life,  which  placed  me 
in  a  position  which  proved  as  disastrous  as  it  was  unexpected. 
After  having  broken  away  from  the  unlucky  Herr  von  Miinch- 
hausen  some  time  previously,  and  returned,  as  it  appeared, 
with  penitential  ardour  to  her  former  connection  with  my 
friend,  Hermann  Miiller,  it  now  turned  out  that  she  had  found 
no  real  satisfaction  in  this  fresh  relationship.  On  the  contrary, 
the  star  of  her  being,  whom  she  had  so  long  and  ardently 
desired,  had  now  at  last  arisen  in  the  person  of  another  lieu- 
tenant of  the  Guards.  With  a  vehemence  which  made  light 
of  her  treachery  to  her  old  friend,  she  elected  this  slim  young 


FINANCIAL   DIFFICULTIES  325 

man,  whose  moral  and  intellectual  weaknesses  were  patent  to 
every  eye,  as  the  chosen  keystone  of  her  life's  love.  He 
took  the  good  luck  that  befell  him  so  seriously,  that  he  would 
brook  no  jesting,  and  at  once  laid  hands  on  the  fortune  of  his 
future  wife,  as  he  considered  that  it  was  disadvantageous!, 
and  insecurely  invested,  and  thought  that  he  knew  of  muc 
more  profitable  ways  of  employing  it.  My  friend  therefore 
explained,  with  much  pain  and  evident  embarrassment,  that 
she  had  renounced  all  control  over  her  capital,  and  was  unable 
to  keep  her  promise  to  me. 

Owing  to  this  I  entered  upon  a  series  of  entanglements  and 
troubles  which  henceforth  dominated  my  life,  and  plunged  me 
into  sorrows  that  left  their  dismal  mark  on  all  my  subsequent 
enterprises.  It  was  clear  that  I  could  not  now  abandon  the 
proposed  plan  of  publication.  The  only  satisfactory  solution 
of  my  perplexities  was  to  be  found  in  the  execution  of  my 
project  and  the  success  which  I  hoped  would  attend  it.  I  was 
compelled,  therefore,  to  turn  all  my  energies  to  the  raising  of 
the  money  wherewith  to  publish  my  two  operas,  to  which  in 
all  probability  Tannhomser  would  shortly  have  to  be  added.  I 
first  applied  to  my  friends,  and  in  some  cases  had  to  pay 
exorbitant  rates  of  interest,  even  for  short  terms.  For  the 
present  these  details  are  sufficient  to  prepare  the  reader 
for  the  catastrophe  towards  which  I  was  now  inevitably 
drifting. 

The  hopelessness  of  my  position  did  not  at  first  reveal  itself. 
There  seemed  no  reason  to  despair  of  the  eventual  spread  of  my 
operatic  works  among  the  theatres  in  Germany,  though  my 
experience  of  them  indicated  that  the  process  would  be  slow. 
In  spite  of  the  depressing  experiences  in  Berlin  and  Hamburg, 
there  were  many  encouraging  signs  to  be  seen.  Above  all, 
Rienzi  maintained  its  position  in  favour  of  the  people  of 
Dresden,  a  place  which  undoubtedly  occupied  a  position  of 
great  importance,  especially  during  the  summer  months,  when 
so  many  strangers  from  all  parts  of  the  world  pass  through  it. 
My  opera,  which  was  not  to  be  heard  anywhere  else,  was 
in  great  request,  both  among  the  Germans  and  other  visitors, 
and  was  always  received  with  marked  approbation,  which 
surprised  me  very  much.  Thus  a  performance  of  Rienzi, 


326  MY   LIFE 

especially    in    summer,    became    quite    a    Dionysian    revelry, 
whose  effect  upon  me  could  not  fail  to  be  encouraging. 

On  one  occasion  Liszt  was  among  the  number  of  these 
visitors.  As  Rienzi  did  not  happen  to  be  in  the  repertoire 
when  he  arrived,  he  induced  the  management  at  his  earnest 
request  to  arrange  a  special  performance.  I  met  him  between 
the  acts  in  Tichatschek's  dressing-room,  and  was  heartily 
encouraged  and  touched  by  his  almost  enthusiastic  apprecia- 
tion, expressed  in  his  most  emphatic  manner.  The  kind  of 
life  to  which  Liszt  was  at  that  time  condemned,  and  which 
bound  him  to  a  perpetual  environment  of  distracting  and 
exciting  elements,  debarred  us  from  all  more  intimate  and 
fruitful  intercourse.  Yet  from  this  time  onward  I  continued 
to  receive  constant  testimonies  of  the  profound  and  lasting 
impression  I  had  made  upon  him,  as  well  as  of  his  sympathetic 
remembrance  of  me.  From  various  parts  of  the  world,  wher- 
ever his  triumphal  progress  led  him,  people,  chiefly  of  the 
upper  classes,  came  to  Dresden  for  the  purpose  of  hearing 
Rienzi.  They  had  been  so  interested  by  Liszt's  reports  of 
my  work,  and  by  his  playing  of  various  selections  from  it, 
that  they  all  came  expecting  something  of  unparalleled 
importance. 

Besides  these  indications  of  Liszt's  enthusiastic  and  friendly 
sympathy,  other  deeply  touching  testimonies  appeared  from 
different  quarters.  The  startling  beginning  made  by  Werder, 
on  the  occasion  of  his  midnight  visit  after  the  second  perform- 
ance of  the  Fliegender  Hollander  in  Berlin,  was  shortly  after- 
wards followed  by  a  similarly  unsolicited  approach  in  the  form 
of  an  effusive  letter  from  an  equally  unknown  personage,  Alwine 
Frommann,  who  afterwards  became  my  faithful  friend.  After 
my  departure  from  Berlin  she  heard  Schroder-Devrient  twice  in 
the  Fliegender  Hollander,  and  the  letter  in  which  she  described 
the  effect  produced  upon  her  by  my  work  conveyed  to  me 
for  the  first  time  the  vigorous  and  profound  sentiments  of  a 
deep  and  confident  recognition  such  as  seldom  falls  to  the  lot 
of  even  the  greatest  master,  and  cannot  fail  to  exercise  a 
weighty  influence  on  his  mind  and  spirit,  which  long  for  self- 
confidence. 

I  have  no  very  vivid  recollections  of  my  own  doings  during 


GLUCK'S    'ARMIDA'  327 

this  first  year  of  my  position  as  conductor  in  a  sphere  of  action 
which  gradually  grew  more  and  more  familiar.  For  the  anni- 
versary of  my  appointment,  and  to  some  extent  as  a  personal 
recognition,  I  was  commissioned  to  procure  Gluck's  Armida. 
This  we  performed  in  March,  1843,  with  the  co-operation  of 
Schroder-Devrient,  just  before  her  temporary  departure  from 
Dresden.  Great  importance  was  attached  to  this  production, 
because,  at  the  same  moment,  Meyerbeer  was  inaugurating 
his  general-directorship  in  Berlin  by  a  performance  of  the  same 
work.  Indeed,  it  was  in  Berlin  that  the  extraordinary  respect 
entertained  for  such  a  commemoration  of  Gluck  had  its  origin. 
I  was  told  that  Meyerbeer  went  to  Rellstab  with  the  score  of 
Armida  in  order  to  obtain  hints  as  to  its  correct  interpretation. 
As  not  long  afterwards  I  also  heard  a  strange  story  of  two 
silver  candlesticks,  wherewith  the  famous  composer  was  said 
to  have  enlightened  the  no  less  famous  critic  when  showing 
him  the  score  of  his  Feldlager  in  Schlesien,  I  decided  to  attach 
no  great  importance  to  the  instructions  he  might  have  received, 
but  rather  to  help  myself  by  a  careful  handling  of  this  difficult 
score,  and  by  introducing  some  softness  into  it  through  modu- 
lating the  variations  in  tone  as  much  as  possible.  I  had  the 
gratification  later  of  receiving  an  exceedingly  warm  apprecia- 
tion of  my  rendering  from  Herr  Eduard  Devrient,  a  great 
Gluck  connoisseur.  After  hearing  this  opera  as  presented 
by  us,  and  comparing  it  with  the  Berlin  performance,  he 
heartily  praised  the  tenderly  modulated  character  of  our 
rendering  of  certain  parts,  which,  he  said,  had  been  given  in 
Berlin  with  the  coarsest  bluntness.  He  mentioned,  as  a  striking 
instance  of  this,  a  brief  chorus  in  C  major  of  male  and  female 
nymphs  in  the  third  act.  By  the  introduction  of  a  more  moderate 
tempo  and  very  soft  piano  I  had  tried  to  free  this  from  the 
original  coarseness  with  which  Devrient  had  heard  it  rendered 
in  Berlin  —  presumably  with  traditional  fidelity.  My  most 
innocent  device,  and  one  which  I  frequently  adopted,  for 
disguising  the  irritating  stiffness  or  the  orchestral  movement 
in  the  original,  was  a  careful  modification  of  the  Bas&o-continuo, 
which  was  taken  uninterruptedly  in  common  time.  This  I 
felt  obliged  to  remedy,  partly  by  legato  playing,  and  partly  by 
pizzicato. 


328  MY   LIFE 

Our  management  were  lavish  in  their  expenditure  on  ex- 
ternals, especially  decoration,  and  as  a  spectacular  opera  the 
piece  drew  fairly  large  houses,  thus  earning  me  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  suitable  conductor  for  Gluck,  and  one  who  was 
in  close  sympathy  with  him.  This  result  was  the  more  con- 
spicuous from  the  fact  that  Iphigenia  in  Tauris  which  is  a  far 
superior  work,  and  in  which  Devrient's  interpretation  of  the 
title-role  was  admirable  had  been  performed  to  empty  houses. 

I  had  to  live  upon  this  reputation  for  a  long  time,  as  it  often 
happened  that  I  was  compelled  to  give  inferior  performances 
of  repertoire  pieces,  including  Mozart's  operas.  The  medio- 
crity of  these  was  particularly  disappointing  to  those  who, 
after  my  success  in  Armida,  had  expected  a  great  deal  from 
my  rendering  of  these  pieces,  and  were  much  disappointed  in 
consequence.  Even  sympathetic  hearers  sought  to  explain  their 
disappointment  on  the  ground  that  I  did  not  appreciate  Mozart 
and  could  not  understand  him.  But  they  failed  to  realise 
how  impossible  it  was  for  me,  as  a  mere  conductor,  to  exercise 
any  real  influence  on  such  desultory  performances,  which  were 
merely  given  as  stopgaps,  and  often  without  rehearsal.  In- 
deed, in  this  matter  I  often  found  myself  in  a  false  position, 
which,  as  I  was  powerless  to  remedy  it,  contributed  not  a 
little  to  render  unbearable  both  my  new  office  and  my  de- 
pendence upon  the  meanest  motives  of  a  paltry  theatrical  rou- 
tine, already  overweighted  with  the  cares  of  business.  This, 
in  fact,  became  worse  than  I  had  expected,  in  spite  of  my 
previous  knowledge  of  the  precariousness  of  such  a  life.  My 
colleague  Reissiger,  to  whom  from  time  to  time  I  poured  out 
my  woes  regarding  the  scant  attention  given  by  the  general 
management  to  our  demands  for  the  maintenance  of  correct 
representations  in  the  realm  of  opera,  comforted  me  by  say- 
ing that  I,  like  himself,  would  sooner  or  later  relinquish  all 
these  fads  and  submit  to  the  inevitable  fate  of  a  conductor. 
Thereupon  he  proudly  smote  his  stomach,  and  hoped  that  I 
might  soon  be  able  to  boast  of  one  as  round  as  his  own. 

I  received  further  provocation  for  my  growing  dislike  of 
these  jog-trot  methods  from  a  closer  acquaintance  with  the 
spirit  in  which  even  eminent  conductors  undertook  the  repro- 
duction of  our  masterpieces.  During  this  first  year  Mendelssohn 


MENDELSSOHN  —  EIGHTH    SYMPHONY      329 

was  invited  to  conduct  his  St.  Paul  for  one  of  the  Palm  Sunday 
concerts  in  the  Dresden  chapel,  which  was  famous  at  that 
time.  The  knowledge  I  thus  acquired  of  this  work,  under  such 
favourable  circumstances,  pleased  me  so  much,  that  I  made 
a  fresh  attempt  to  approach  the  composer  with  sincere  and 
friendly  motives;  but  a  remarkable  conversation  which  I  had 
with  him  on  the  evening  of  this  performance  quickly  and 
strangely  repelled  my  impulse.  After  the  oratorio  Reissiger 
was  to  produce  Beethoven's  Eighth  Symphony.  I  had  noticed 
in  the  preceding  rehearsal  that  Reissiger  had  fallen  into  the 
error  of  all  the  ordinary  conductors  of  this  work  by  taking  the 
tempo  di  minuetto  of  the  third  movement  at  a  meaningless 
waltz  time,  whereby  not  only  does  the  whole  piece  lose  its 
imposing  character,  but  the  trio  is  rendered  absolutely  ridiculous 
by  the  impossibility  of  the  violoncello  part  being  interpreted 
at  such  a  speed.  I  had  called  Reissiger's  attention  to  this 
defect,  and  he  acquiesced  in  my  opinion,  promising  to  take 
the  part  in  question  at  true  minuetto  tempo.  I  related  this  to 
Mendelssohn,  when  he  was  resting  after  his  own  performance 
in  the  box  beside  me,  listening  to  the  symphony.  He,  too, 
acknowledged  that  I  was  right,  and  thought  that  it  ought  to  be 
played  as  I  said.  And  now  the  third  movement  began.  Reis- 
siger, who,  it  is  true,  did  not  possess  the  needful  power  suddenly 
to  impress  so  momentous  a  change  of  time  upon  his  orchestra 
with  success,  followed  the  usual  custom  and  took  the  tempo 
di  minuetto  in  the  same  old  waltz  time.  Just  as  I  was  about 
to  express  my  anger,  Mendelssohn  gave  me  a  friendly  nod,  as 
though  he  thought  that  this  was  what  I  wanted,  and  that  I  had 
understood  the  music  in  this  way.  I  was  so  amazed  by  this 
complete  absence  of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  famous  musician, 
that  I  was  struck  dumb,  and  thenceforth  my  own  particular 
opinion  of  Mendelssohn  gradually  matured,  an  opinion  which 
was  afterwards  confirmed  by  R.  Schumann.  The  latter,  in 
expressing  the  sincere  pleasure  he  had  felt  on  listening  to  the 
time  at  which  I  had  taken  the  first  movement  of  Beethoven's 
Ninth  Symphony,  told  me  that  he  had  been  compelled  to  hear 
it  year  after  year  taken  by  Mendelssohn  at  a  perfectly  dis- 
tracting speed. 

Amid  my  yearning  anxiety  to  exert  some  influence  upon  the 


330  MY   LIFE 

spirit  in  which  our  noblest  masterpieces  were  executed,  I  had 
to  struggle  against  the  profound  dissatisfaction  I  felt  with  my 
employment  on  the  ordinary  theatre  repertoire.  It  was  not 
until  Palm  Sunday  of  the  year  1844,  just  after  my  dispiriting 
expedition  to  Hamburg,  that  my  desire  to  conduct  the  Pastoral 
Symphony  was  satisfied.  But  many  faults  still  remained  un- 
remedied,  and  for  the  removal  of  these  I  had  to  adopt  indirect 
methods  which  gave  me  much  trouble.  For  instance,  at  these 
famous  concerts  the  arrangement  of  the  orchestra,  the  mem- 
bers of  which  were  seated  in  a  long,  thin,  semicircular  row 
round  the  chorus  of  singers,  was  so  inconceivably  stupid  that 
it  required  the  explanation  given  by  Reissiger  to  make  me 
understand  such  folly.  He  told  me  that  all  these  arrange- 
ments dated  from  the  time  of  the  late  conductor  Morlacchi, 
who,  as  an  Italian  composer  of  operas,  had  no  true  realisa- 
tion of  the  importance  of  the  orchestra  nor  of  its  necessities. 
When,  therefore,  I  asked  why  they  had  permitted  him  to 
meddle  with  things  he  did  not  understand,  I  learned  that  the 
preference  shown  to  this  Italian,  both  by  the  court  and  the 
general  management,  even  in  opposition  to  Carl  Maria  von 
Weber,  had  always  been  absolute  and  brooked  no  contradic- 
tion. I  was  warned  that,  even  now,  we  should  experience 
great  difficulty  in  ridding  ourselves  of  these  inherited  vices, 
because  the  opinion  still  prevailed  in  the  highest  circles  that 
he  must  have  understood  best  what  he  was  about. 

Once  more  my  childish  memories  of  the  eunuch  Sassaroli 
flashed  through  my  mind,  and  I  remembered  the  warning  of 
Weber's  widow  as  to  the  significance  of  my  succession  to  her 
husband's  post  of  conductor  in  Dresden.  But,  in  spite  of  all 
this,  our  performance  of  the  Pastoral  Sy»phQny__succeeded 
beyond  expectation,  and  the  incomparable  and  wonderfully 
stimulating  enjoyment,  which  I  was  in  future  to  derive  from 
my  intercourse  with  Beethoven's  works,  now  first  enabled  me 
to  realise  his  prolific  strength.  Rockel  shared  in  this  enjoy- 
ment with  heartfelt  sympathy;  he  supported  me  with  eye 
and  ear  at  every  rehearsal,  always  stood  by  my  side,  and  was 
at  one  with  me  both  in  his  appreciation  and  his  aims. 

After  this  encouraging  success  I  was  to  receive  the  grati- 
fication of  another  triumph  in  the  summer,  which,  although  it 


OVATION    FOR    THE    KING    OF    SAXONY     331 

was  of  no  particular  moment  from  the  musical  point  of  view, 
was  of  great  social  importance.  The  King  of  Saxony,  towards 
whom,  as  I  have  already  said,  I  had  felt  warmly  drawn  when 
he  was  Prince  Friedrich,  was  expected  home  from  a  long  visit 
to  England.  The  reports  received  of  his  stay  there  had  greatly 
rejoiced  my  patriotic  soul.  While  this  homely  monarch,  who 
shrank  from  all  pomp  and  noisy  demonstration,  was  in  England, 
it  happened  that  the  Tsar  Nicholas  arrived  quite  unexpectedly 
on  a  visit  to  the  Queen.  In  his  honour  great  festivities  and 
military  reviews  were  held,  in  which  our  King,  much  against 
his  will,  was  obliged  to  participate,  and  he  was  consequently 
compelled  to  receive  the  enthusiastic  acclamations  of  the  Eng- 
lish crowd,  who  were  most  demonstrative  in  showing  their 
preference  for  him,  as  compared  with  the  unpopular  Tsar. 
This  preference  was  also  reflected  in  the  newspapers,  so  that  a 
flattering  incense  floated  over  from  England  to  our  little  Saxony 
which  filled  us  all  with  a  peculiar  pride  in  our  King.  While  I 
was  in  this  mood,  which  absorbed  me  completely,  I  learned  that 
preparations  were  being  made  in  Leipzig  for  a  special  welcome 
to  the  King  on  his  return,  which  was  to  be  further  dignified 
by  a  musical  festival  in  the  directing  of  which  Mendelssohn 
was  to  take  part.  I  made  inquiries  as  to  what  was  going  to  be 
done  in  Dresden,  and  learned  that  the  King  did  not  propose  to 
call  there  at  all,  but  was  going  direct  to  his  summer  residence 
at  Pillnitz. 

A  moment's  reflection  showed  me  that  this  would  only  further 
my  desire  of  preparing  a  pleasant  and  hearty  reception  for  his 
Majesty.  As  I  was  a  servant  of  the  Crown,  any  attempt  on 
my  part  to  render  an  act  of  homage  in  Dresden  might  have 
had  the  appearance  of  an  official  parade  which  would  not  be 
admissible.  I  seized  the  idea,  therefore,  of  hurriedly  collecting 
together  all  who  could  either  play  or  sing,  so  that  we  might 
perform  a  Reception  song  hastily  composed  in  honour  of  the 
event.  The  obstacle  to  my  plan  was  that  my  Director  Liitti- 
chau  was  away  at  one  of  his  country  seats.  To  come  to  an 
understanding  with  my  colleague  Reissiger  would,  moreover, 
have  involved  delay,  and  given  the  enterprise  the  very  aspect 
of  an  official  ovation  which  I  wished  to  avoid.  As  no  time  was 
to  be  lost,  if  anything  worthy  of  the  occasion  was  to  be  done  — 


332  MY   LIFE 

as  the  King  was  due  to  arrive  in  a  few  days  —  I  availed  mysell 
of  my  position  as  conductor  of  the  Glee  Club,  and  summoned  all 
its  singers  and  instrumentalists  to  my  aid.  In  addition  to  these, 
I  invited  the  members  of  our  theatrical  company,  and  also 
those  of  the  orchestra,  to  join  us.  This  done,  I  drove  quickly 
to  Pillnitz  to  arrange  matters  with  the  Lord  Chamberlain, 
whom  I  found  favourably  disposed  towards  my  project.  The 
only  leisure  I  could  snatch  for  composing  the  verses  of  my  song 
and  setting  them  to  music  was  during  the  rapid  drive  there 
and  back,  for  by  the  time  I  reached  home  I  had  to  have  every 
thing  ready  for  the  copyist  and  lithographer.  The  agreeable 
sensation  of  rushing  through  the  warm  summer  air  and  lovely 
country,  coupled  with  the  sincere  affection  with  which  I  was 
inspired  for  our  German  Prince,  and  which  had  prompted  my 
effort,  elated  me  and  worked  me  up  to  a  high  pitch  of  tension, 
in  which  I  now  formed  a  clear  conception  of  the  lyrical  outlines 
of  the  '  Tannhduser  March,'  which  first  saw  the  light  of  day 
on  the  occasion  of  this  royal  welcome.  I  soon  afterwards  de- 
veloped this  theme,  and  thus  produced  the  march  which  became 
the  most  popular  of  the  melodies  I  had  hitherto  composed. 

On  the  next  day  it  had  to  be  tried  over  with  a  hundred  and 
twenty  instrumentalists  and  three  hundred  singers.  I  had 
taken  the  liberty  of  inviting  them  to  meet  me  on  the  stage  of 
the  Court  Theatre,  where  everything  went  off  capitally.  Every 
one  was  delighted,  and  I  not  the  least  so,  when  a  messenger 
arrived  from  the  director,  who  had  just  returned  to  town, 
requesting  an  immediate  interview.  Liittichau  was  enraged 
beyond  measure  at  my  high-handed  proceedings  in  this  matter, 
of  which  he  had  been  informed  by  our  good  friend  Reissiger. 
If  his  baronial  coronet  had  been  on  his  head  during  this  inter- 
view, it  would  assuredly  have  tumbled  off.  The  fact  that  I 
should  have  conducted  my  negotiations  in  person  with  the 
court  officials,  and  could  report  that  my  endeavours  had  met 
with  extraordinarily  prompt  success,  aroused  his  deepest  fury, 
for  the  chief  importance  of  his  own  position  consisted  in  always 
representing  everything  which  had  to  be  obtained  by  these 
means  as  surrounded  by  the  greatest  obstacles,  and  hedged 
in  by  the  strictest  etiquette.  I  offered  to  cancel  everything, 
but  that  only  embarrassed  him  the  more.  I  thereupon  asked 


JOURNEY   TO  PILLNITZ  (1844)  333 

him  what  he  wanted  me  to  do,  if  the  plan  was  still  to  be  carried 
out.  On  this  point  he  seemed  uncertain,  but  thought  I  had 
shown  a  great  lack  of  fellow-feeling  in  having  not  only  ignored 
him,  but  Reissiger  as  well.  I  answered  that  I  was  perfectly 
ready  to  hand  over  my  composition  and  the  conducting  of  the 
piece  to  Reissiger.  But  he  could  not  swallow  this,  as  he  really 
had  an  exceedingly  poor  opinion  of  Reissiger,  of  which  I  was 
very  well  aware.  His  real  grievance  was  that  I  had  arranged 
the  whole  business  with  the  Lord  Chamberlain,  Herr  von 
Reizenstein,  who  was  his  personal  enemy,  and  he  added  that  I 
could  form  no  conception  of  the  rudeness  he  had  been  obliged 
to  endure  from  the  hands  of  this  official.  This  outburst  of 
confidence  -i-  easier  for  me  to  exhibit  an  almost  sincere 

emotion,  1  j  he  responded  by  a  shrug  of  the  shoulders, 

meaning  aust  resign  himself  to  a  disagreeable  necessity. 

But  IT  'cet  was  even  more  seriously  threatened  by  the 

wretchef  -r  than  by  this  storm  with  the  director;    for  it 

rained  in  torrents.     If  it  lasted,  which  it  seemed  only 

too  lik'  .,  I  could  hardly  start  on  the  special  boat  at  five 

o'clock  morning,   as   proposed,   with   my  hundreds   of 

helpe  e  an  early  morning  concert  at  Pilmitz,  two  hours 

away  ticipated   such   a   disaster  with  genuine   dismay. 

But  ;onsoled  me  by  saying  that  I  could  rely  upon  it  that 

we  ?  ive  glorious  weather  the  next  day ;   for  I  was  lucky ! 

Th  in  my  luck  has  followed  me  ever  since,  evon  down  to 

*•""*•*    I        ..„•  mm •^•i-^***^*  f 

m\  ays ;    and  amid  the  great  misfortunes  which  have  so 

of  pered  my  enterprises,  I  have  felt  as  if  this  statement 

W  3ked  insult  to  fate.    But  this  time,  at  least,  my  friend 

v  ;    the  12th  of  August,  1844  was  from  sunrise  till  late 

j  the  most  perfect  summer  day  that  I  can  remember  in 

,e  life.     The  sensation  of  blissful  content  with  which 

ly  light-hearted  legion  of  gaily  dressed  bandsmen  and 

gathering   through   the   auspicious   morning   mists   on 

jur  steamer,  swelled  my  breast  with  a  fervent  faith  in 

'  ;ky  star. 

my  friendly  impetuosity  I  had  succeeded  in  overcoming 
.ger's  smouldering  resentment,  and  had  persuaded  him 
are  the  honour  of  our  undertaking  by  conducting  the  per- 
ance  of  my  composition  himself.  When  we  arrived  at  the 


334  MY   LIFE 

spot,  everything  went  off  splendidly.  The  King  and  royal 
family  were  visibly  touched,  and  in  the  evil  times  that  followed 
the  Queen  of  Saxony  spoke  of  this  occasion,  I  am  told,  with 
peculiar  emotion,  as  the  fairest  day  of  her  life.  After  Reissiger 
had  wielded  his  baton  with  great  dignity,  and  I  had  sung  with 
the  tenors  in  the  choir,  we  two  conductors  were  summoned  to 
the  presence  of  the  royal  family.  The  King  warmly  expressed 
his  thanks,  while  the  Queen  paid  us  the  high  compliment  of 
saying  that  I  composed  very  well  and  that  Reissiger  conducted 
very  well.  His  Majesty  asked  us  to  repeat  the  last  three 
stanzas  only,  as,  owing  to  a  painful  ulcejated  tooth,  he  could 
not  remain  much  longer  out  of  doors.  I  rapidly  devised  a 
combined  evolution,  the  remarkably  successful  execution  of 
which  I  am  very  proud,  even  to  this  day.  I  had  the  entire  song 
repeated,  but,  in  accordance  with  the  King's  wish,  only  one 
verse  was  sung  in  our  original  crescent  formation.  At  the 
beginning  of  the  second  verse  I  made  my  four  hundred  un- 
disciplined bandsmen  and  singers  file  off  in  a  mar^Ti  through 
the  garden,  which,  as  they  gradi  arranged 

that  the  final  notes  could  only  rej  echoing 

dream-song.      Thanks   to   my  u:  -id   ever- 

present  help,  this  retreat  was  so  steadily  carried  out  that  not 
the  slightest  faltering  was  perceptible  either  in  time  or  delivery, 
and  the  whole  might  have  been  taken  for  a  carefully  rehearsed 
theatrical  manoeuvre.  On  reaching  the  castle  court  we  found 
that,  by  the  Queen's  kindly  forethought,  an  ample  breakfast 
had  been  provided  for  our  party  on  the  lawn,  where  the  tables 
were  already  spread.  We  often  saw  our  royal  hostess  herself 
busily  supervising  the  attendants,  or  moving  with  excitea  de- 
light about  the  windows  and  corridors  of  the  castle.  Every 
eye  beamed  rapture  to  my  soul,  as  the  successful  author  of  the 
general  happiness,  and  I  almost  felt  amid  the  glories  of  that  day 
as  though  the  millennium  had  been  proclaimed.  After  roaming 
in  a  body  through  the  lovely  grounds  of  the  castle,  and  not 
omitting  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Keppgrund  which  had  been  so  dear 
to  me  in  my  youth,  we  returned  late  at  night,  and  in  the 
highest  spirits,  to  Dresden. 

Next  morning  I  was  again  summoned  to  the  presence  of  thu 
director.     But  a  change  had  come  over  him  during  the  night. 


LUTTICHAU  DEEPLY  AFFECTED     335 

As  I  began  to  offer  my  apologies  for  the  anxiety  I  had  caused 
him,  the  tall  thin  man,  with  the  hard  dry  face,  seized  me  by 
the  hand  and  addressed  me  with  a  rapturous  expression,  which 
I  am  sure  no  one  else  ever  saw  on  his  face.  He  told  me  to  say 
no  more  about  these  anxieties.  I  was  a  great  man,  and  soon 
no  one  would  know  anything  about  him,  whereas  I  should 
be  universally  admired  and  loved.  I  was  deeply  moved,  and 
wished  only  to  express  my  embarrassment  at  so  unexpected  an 
outburst,  when  he  kindly  interrupted  me  and  sought  an  escape 
from  his  own  emotion  in  good-humoured  confidences.  He  re- 
ferred, with  a  smile,  to  the  self-denial  which  had  yielded  the 
place  of  honour  on  so  extraordinary  an  occasion  to  an  unde- 
serving man  like  Reissiger.  When  I  assured  him  that  this  act 
had  afforded  me  the  liveliest  satisfaction,  and  that  I  had  my- 
self persuaded  my  colleague  to  take  the  baton,  he  confessed 
that  at  last  he  began  to  understand  me,  but  failed  altogether 
to  comprehend  how  the  other  could  accept  a  position  to  which 
he  had  no  right. 

Liittichau's  altered  attitude  towards  me  was  such  that  for 
some  time  our  intercourse  on  matters  of  business  assumed  an 
almost  confidential  tone.  But,  unfortunately,  in  course  of  time 
things  changed  for  the  worse,  so  that  our  relationship  be- 
came one  of  open  enmity;  nevertheless,  a  certain  peculiar 
tenderness  towards  me  on  the  part  of  this  singular  man  was 
always  clearly  perceptible.  Indeed,  I  might  almost  say  that 
much  of  his  subsequent  abuse  of  me  sounded  more  like  the 
strangely  perverted  plaints  of  a  love  that  met  with  no  response. 

For  my  holiday  this  year  I  went,  early  in  September,  to 
Fischer's  vineyard,  near  Loschwitz,  not  far  from  the  famous 
Findlater  vineyard,  where,  somewhat  late  in  the  year,  I  rented 
a  summer  residence.  Here^  under  the  kindly  and  strengthen- 
ing stimulus  of  six  week  of  open-air  life,  I  composed  my  music 
f or  Jhe_.s£cond  act  of  Tannhauscr,  which  I  completed  by  the 
15th  of  October.  During  this  period  a  performance  of  Bienzi 
was  given  before  an  audience  of  no  ordinary  importance.  For 
this  event  I  went  up  to  town.  Spontini,  Meyerbeer,  and 
General  Lwoff,  the  composer  of  the  Russian  National  Anthem, 
were  seated  together  in  a  stage  box.  I  sought  no  opportunity 
of  learning  the  impression  made  by  my  opera  upon  these  learned 


330  KY  LIFE 

judges  and  magnates  of  the  musical  world.  It  was  enough  for 
me  to  have  the  complacent  satisfaction  of  knowing  that  they 
had  heard  my  oft-repeated  work  performed  before  a  crowded 
house  and  amid  overwhelming  applause.  I  was  delighted  at 
the  close  of  the  opera  to  have  my  little  dog  Peps,  which  had  run 
after  me  all  the  way  from  the  country,  brought  to  me;  and 
without  waiting  to  greet  the  European  celebrities,  I  drove  off 
with  it  at  once  to  our  quiet  vineyard,  where  Minna  was  greatly 
relieved  to  recover  her  little  pet,  which  for  hours  she  had 
believed  to  be  lost. 

Here  I  also  received  a  visit  from  Werder,  the  man  whose 
friendship  I  had  made  in  Berlin  under  such  dramatic  circum- 
stances. But  this  time  he  appeared  in  ordinary  human  guise, 
beneath  the  kindly  light  of  heaven,  by  which  we  disputed  in 
a  friendly  way  concerning  the  true  worth  of  the  Fliegender 
Hollander,  my  mind  having  somewhat  turned  against  this  work 
since  Tannhcmser  had  got  into  my  head.  It  certainly  seemed 
odd  to  find  myself  contradicted  on  this  point  by  my  friend, 
and  to  receive  instruction  from  him  on  the  significance  of  my 
own  work. 

When  we  returned  to  our  winter  quarters  I  tried  to  avoid 
allowing  so  lengthy  an  interval  to  elapse  between  the  compo- 
sition of  the  second  and  third  acts  as  had  separated  that  of 
the  first  and  second.  In  spite  of  many  absorbing  engage- 
ments I  succeeded  in  my  aim.  By  carefully  cultivating  a 
habit  of  taking  solitary  walks,  and  thanks  to  their  soothing 
influence  over  me,  I  managed  to  finish  the  music  of  Act-iii, 
by  the  29th  of  December,  that  is  to  say,  before  the  end  of  the 

During  this  period  my  time  was  otherwise  very  seriously 
occupied  by  a  visit  paid  us  by  Spontini  with  reference  to  a 
proposed  presentation  of  his  Vestalin,  the  preparation  for  which 
had  just  begun.  The  singular  episodes  and  characteristic 
features  of  the  intercourse  which  I  thus  gained  with  this  emi- 
nent and  hoary-headed  master  are  still  so  vividly  imprinted  on 
my  memory  that  they  seem  worthy  of  a  place  in  this  record. 

Since,  with  the  co-operation  of  Schroder-Devrient,  we  could, 
on  the  whole,  rely  upon  an  admirable  presentation  of  the  opera, 
I  had  inspired  Liittichau  with  the  idea  of  inviting  Spontini  to 


SPONTINI    INVITED    TO   DKESDEN          337 

undertake  the  personal  superintendence  of  his  justly  famous 
•ork.  He  had  just  left  Berlin  for  ever,  after  enduring  great 
i  Miuliation  there,  and  such  an  invitation  at  this  moment 
would  be  a  well-timed  proof  of  respect.  This  was  accordingly 
sent,  and  as  I  had  myself  been  entrusted  with  the  conductor- 
ship  of  the  opera,  I  was  given  the  singular  task  of  deciding  this 
point  with  the  master.  My  letter,  it  appears,  although  written 
in  French,  inspired  him  with  a  high  opinion  of  my  zeal  for  the 
enterprise,  and  in  a  gracious  reply  he  informed  me  what  his 
special  wishes  were  regarding  the  arrangements  to  be  made 
for  his  collaboration.  As  far  as  the  vocalists  were  concerned, 
and  seeing  that  a  Schroder-Devrient  was  among  the  number, 
he  frankly  expressed  his  satisfaction.  As  for  chorus  and  ballet, 
he  took  it  for  granted  that  nothing  would  be  lacking  to  the 
dignity  of  the  performance;  and  finally,  as  regarded  the 
orchestra,  he  expected  that  this  also  would  be  sure  to  please 
him,  as  he  presumed  it  contained  the  necessary  complement 
of  excellent  instruments  which,  to  use  his  own  words,  l  he 
hoped  would  furnish  the  performance  with  twelve  good  contra- 
bassi '  (le  tout  garni  de  douze  bonnes  centre-basses).  This 
phrase  bowled  me  over,  for  the  proportion  thus  bluntly  stated 
in  figures  gave  me  so  logical  a  conception  of  his  exalted  expec- 
tations, that  I  hurried  away  at  once  to  the  director  to  warn 
him  that  the  enterprise  on  which  we  had  embarked  would  not, 
after  all,  prove  as  easy  as  we  thought.  His  alarm  was  great, 
and  he  said  that  some  plan  must  at  once  be  devised  for  breaking 
off  the  engagement. 

When  Schroder-Devrient  heard  of  our  dilemma,  knowing 
Spontini  well,  she  laughed  as  though  she  would  never  stop  at 
the  ingenuous  impudence  with  which  we  had  issued  our  invi- 
tation. A  trifling  indisposition  from  which  she  then  suffered 
provided  a  reasonable  excuse  for  a  delay,  more  or  less  pro- 
longed, and  this  she  generously  placed  at  our  disposal.  Spontini 
had,  in  fact,  urged  us  to  use  all  possible  despatch  in  the 
execution  of  our  project,  for,  as  he  was  impatiently  awaited  in 
Paris,  he  could  spare  us  but  little  time.  It  fell  to  my  lot  to 
weave  the  tissue  of  innocent  deceptions  by  which  we  hoped  to 
divert  the  master  from  a  definite  acceptance  of  our  invitation, 
we  could  breathe  again,  and  duly  began  rehearsing.  But 


338  MY   LIFE 

on  the  very  day  before  we  proposed  to  hold  our  full-dress 
rehearsal  at  our  leisure,  lo  and  behold!  about  noon  a  carriage 
drove  up  to  my  door,  in  which,  clad  in  a  long  blue  coat  of  pilot- 
cloth,  sat  no  other  than  the  haughty  master  himself,  whose  man- 
ners resembled  those  of  a  Spanish  grandee.  All  unattended  and 
greatly  excited,  he  entered  my  room,  showed  me  my  letters, 
and  proved  from  our  correspondence  that  the  invitation  had 
not  been  declined,  but  that  he  had  in  all  points  accurately 
complied  with  our  wishes.  Forgetting  for  the  moment  all  the 
possible  embarrassments  which  might  arise,  in  my  genuine  de- 
light at  beholding  the  wonderful  man  before  me,  and  hearing 
his  work  conducted  by  himself,  I  at  once  undertook  to  do  every- 
thing I  possibly  could  to  meet  his  desires.  This  declaration  I 
made  with  the  utmost  sincerity  of  zeal.  He  smiled  with  almost 
childlike  kindliness  on  hearing  me,  and  I  at  once  begged  him 
to  conduct  the  rehearsal  arranged  for  the  morrow.  He  thereupon 
grew  suddenly  thoughtful,  and  began  to  weigh  the  numerous 
disadvantages  of  such  an  action  on  his  part.  So  acute  did  his 
agitation  become  that  he  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  expressing 
himself  clearly  on  any  point,  and  I  found  it  no  easy  matter 
to  inquire  what  arrangements  on  our  part  would  persuade  him 
to  undertake  the  morrow's  rehearsal.  After  a  moment's  re- 
flection he  asked  what  sort  of  baton  I  was  accustomed  to 
use  when  conducting.  With  my  hands  I  indicated  the  approxi- 
mate length  and  thickness  of  a  medium-sized  wooden  rod,  such 
as  our  choir-attendant  was  in  the  habit  of  supplying,  freshly 
covered  with  white  paper.  He  sighed,  and  asked  if  I  thought 
it  possible  to  procure  him  by  to-morrow  a  baton  of  black  ebony, 
whose  very  respectable  length  and  thickness  he  indicated  by  a 
gesture,  and  on  each  end  of  which  a  fairly  large  knob  of  ivory 
was  to  be  affixed.  I  promised  to  have  one  prepared  for  the  next 
rehearsal,  which  should  at  least  be  similar  in  appearance  to 
what  he  desired,  and  another  of  the  specified  materials  in  time 
for  the  actual  performance.  Visibly  relieved,  he  then  passed 
his  hand  over  his  brow,  and  granted  me  permission  to  announce 
his  consent  to  conduct  on  the  following  day.  After  once  more 
strongly  enforcing  his  instructions  as  to  the  baton,  he  went  back 
to  his  hotel. 

I  seemed  to  be  moving  in  a  dream,  and  hastened  in  a  whirl- 


FIRST   REHEARSAL   OF   THE   'VESTALIN'      339 

wind  of  excitement  to  publish  the  news  of  what  had  happened 
and  was  to  be  expected.  We  were  fairly  trapped.  Schroder- 
Devrient  offered  to  become  our  scapegoat,  while  I  entered  into 
precise  details  with  the  theatre  carpenter  concerning  the  baton. 
This  turned  out  so  far  correct  that  it  possessed  the  requisite 
length  and  breadth,  was  black  in  its  colour,  and  had  two  large 
white  knobs.  Then  came  the  fateful  rehearsal.  Spontini  was 
evidently  ill  at  ease  on  his  seat  in  the  orchestra.  First  of 
all  he  wished  to  have  the  oboists  placed  behind  him.  As  this 
partial  change  of  position  just  at  that  moment  would  have 
caused  much  confusion  in  the  disposition  of  the  orchestra,  I 
promised  to  effect  the  alteration  after  the  rehearsal.  He  said 
no  more,  and  took  up  his  baton.  In  a  moment  I  understood 
why  he  attached  such  importance  to  its  form  and  size.  He 
held  it,  not  as  other  conductors  do,  by  the  end,  but  gripped  it 
about  the  middle  with  his  clenched  fist,  waving  it  so  as  to  make 
it  evident  that  he  wielded  his  baton  like  a  field-marshal's  staff, 
not  for  beating  time,  but  for  command. 

Confusion  arose  in  the  very  first  scene,  which  was  increased 
by  the  fact  that  the  master's  instructions,  both  to  orchestra 
and  singers,  were  rendered  almost  unintelligible  by  his  confused 
use  of  the  German  language.  This  much  at  least  we  were 
soon  able  to  grasp,  that  he  was  particularly  anxious  to  dis- 
abuse us  of  the  idea  that  this  was  a  full-dress  rehearsal,  and  to 
show  us  that  he  was  set  upon  a  thorough  re-study  of  the  opera 
from  the  very  beginning.  Great,  indeed,  was  the  despair  of 
my  good  old  chorus-master  and  stage  manager,  Fischer  —  who 
before  had  enthusiastically  advocated  the  invitation  of  Spontini 
—  when  he  recognised  that  the  dislocation  of  our  repertoire 
was  now  inevitable.  This  feeling  swelled  by  degrees  to  open 
anger,  in  the  blindness  of  which  every  fresh  suggestion  of 
Spontini's  appeared  but  frivolous  fault-finding,  to  which  he 
bluntly  responded  in  the  coarsest  German.  After  one  of  the 
choruses  Spontini  beckoned  me  to  his  side  and  whispered: 
'  Mais  savez-vous,  vos  choeurs  ne  chantent  pas  mal ' ;  whereupon 
Fischer,  regarding  this  with  suspicion,  shouted  out  to  me  in 
a  rage :  (  What  does  the  old  hog  want  now  ? '  and  I  had  some 
trouble  to  pacify  the  speedily  converted  enthusiast. 

But    our    most    serious    delay    arose,    during    the    first   act, 


340  MY   LIFE 

through  th'e  evolutions  of  a  triumphal  march.  With  the  most 
vociferous  emphasis  the  master  expressed  intense  dissatisfac- 
tion with  the  apathetic  demeanour  of  our  populace  during  the 
procession  of  vestal  virgins.  He  was  quite  unaware  of  the  fact 
that,  in  obedience  to  our  stage  manager's  instructions,  they 
had  fallen  on  their  knees  upon  the  appearance  of  the  priest- 
esses; for  he  was  so  excited,  and  withal  so  terribly  short- 
sighted, that  nothing  which  appealed  to  the  eye  alone  was  per- 
ceptible to  his  senses.  What  he  demanded  was  that  the  Roman 
army  should  manifest  its  devout  respect  in  more  drastic 
fashion  by  flinging  themselves  as  one  man  to  the  ground,  and 
marking  this  by  delivering  a  crashing  blow  of  their  spears  on 
their  shields.  Endless  attempts  were  made,  but  some  one  al- 
ways clattered  either  too  soon  or  too  late.  Then  he  repeated 
the  action  himself  several  times  with  his  baton  on  the  desk,  but 
all  to  no  purpose;  the  crash  was  not  sufficiently  sharp  and 
emphatic.  This  reminded  me  of  the  impression  made  upon 
me  some  years  before  in  Berlin  by  the  wonderful  precision  and 
almost  alarming  effect  with  which  I  had  seen  similar  evolutions 
carried  out  in  the  play  of  Ferdinand  Cortez,  and  I  realized  that 
it  would  require  an  immediate  and  tedious  accentuation  of  our 
customary  softness  of  action  in  such  manreuvres  before  we 
could  meet  the  fastidious  master's  requirements.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  act  Spontini  went  on  the  stage  himself,  in  order  to 
give  a  detailed  explanation  of  his  reasons  for  wishing  to  defer 
his  opera  for  a  considerable  time,  so  as  to  prepare  by  multi- 
tudinous rehearsals  for  its  production  in  accordance  with  his 
taste.  He  expected  to  find  the  actors  of  the  Dresden  Court 
Theatre  gathered  there  to  hear  him;  but  the  company  had 
already  dispersed.  Singers  and  stage  manager  had  nastily 
scattered  in  every  direction  to  give  vent,  each  in  his  own 
fashion,  to  the  misery  of  the  situation.  None  but  the  work- 
men, lamp-cleaners,  and  a  few  of  the  chorus  gathered  in  a 
semicircle  around  Spontini,  in  order  'to  have  a  look  at  that 
remarkable  man,  as  he  held  forth  with  wonderful  effect  on  the 
requirements  of  true  theatrical  art.  Turning  towards  the  dis- 
mal scene,  I  gently  and  respectfully  pointed  out  to  Spontini 
the  uselessness  of  his  declamation,  and  promised  that  every- 
thing should  eventually  be  done  precisely  as  he  desired. 


THE    REHEAKSALS    CONTINUED  341 

Finally,  I  succeeded  in  extricating  him  from  the  undignified 
position  in  which,  to  my  horror,  he  had  been  placed,  by  telling 
him  that  Herr  Eduard  Devrient,  who  had  seen  the  Vestalin  in 
Berlin,  and  carried  every  detail  of  the  performance  in  his 
mind,  should  personally  drill  our  chorus  and  supers  into  a 
becoming  solemnity  during  the  reception  of  the  vestals.  This 
pacified  him,  and  we  proceeded  to  settle  on  a  plan  for  a  series 
of  rehearsals  according  to  his  wishes.  But,  in  spite  of  all  this, 
I  was  the  only  person  to  whom  this  strange  turn  of  affairs  was 
not  unwelcome;  for  through  the  burlesque  extravagances  of 
Spontini,  and  notwithstanding  his  extraordinary  eccentricities, 
which,  however,  I  learned  in  time  to  understand,  I  could  per- 
ceive the  miraculous  energy  with  which  he  pursued  and  attained 
an  ideal  of  theatrical  art  such  as  in  our  days  had  become  almost 
unknown. 

We  began,  therefore,  with  a  pianoforte  rehearsal,  at  which 
the  master  made  a  point  of  telling  the  singers  what  he  wanted. 
He  did  not  tell  us  anything  new,  however,  for  he  said  little 
about  the  details  of  the  rendering;  on  the  other  hand,  he 
expatiated  upon  the  general  interpretation,  and  I  noticed  that 
in  doing  this,  he  had  accustomed  himself  to  make  the  most 
decided  allowances  for  the  great  singers,  especially  Schrb'der- 
Devrient  and  Tichatschek.  The  only  thing  he  did  was  to  forbid 
the  latter  to  use  the  word  Braut  (bride)  with  which  Licinius 
had  to  address  Julia  in  the  German  translation;  this  word 
sounded  horrible  in  his  ears,  and  he  could  not  understand  how 
anybody  could  set  such  a  vulgar  sound  as  that  to  music.  He 
gave  a  long  lecture,  however,  to  the  somewhat  coarse  and  less 
talented  singer  who  took  the  part  of  the  high-priest,  and  ex- 
plained to  him  how  to  understand  and  interpret  this  character 
from  the  dialogue  (in  recitative)  between  him  and  Haruspex. 
He  told  him  that  he  must  understand  that  the  whole  thing 
was  based  upon  priestcraft  and  superstition.  Pontifex  must 
make  it  clear  that  he  does  not  fear  his  antagonist  at  the  head 
of  the  Roman  army,  because,  should  the  worst  come  to  the 
worst,  he  has  his  machines  ready,  which,  if  necessary,  will 
miraculously  rekindle  the  dead  fire  of  Vesta.  In  this  way,  even 
though  Julia  should  escape  the  sacrifice,  the  power  of  the  priest- 
hood would  still  be  unassailable. 


342  MY   LIFE 

During  one  of  the  rehearsals  I  asked  Spontini  why  he,  who, 
as  a  rule,  made  such  very  effective  use  of  the  trombone,  should 
have  left  it  entirely  out  in  the  magnificent  triumphal  march 
of  the  first  act.  Very  much  astonished  he  asked :  '  Est-ce  que 
je  n'ai  pas  de  trombones?'  I  showed  him  the  printed  score, 
and  he  then  asked  me  to  add  the  trombones  to  the  march,  so 
that,  if  possible,  they  might  be  used  at  the  next  rehearsal.  He 
also  said:  '  J'ai  entendu  dans  votre  Rienzi  un  instrument,  que 
vous  appelez  Basse-tuba;  je  ne  veux  pas  bannir  cet  instrument 
de  I'orchestre:  faites  men  une  partie  pour  la  Vestale.'  It  gave 
me  great  pleasure  to  perform  this  task  for  him  with  all  the 
care  and  good  judgment  I  could  dispose  of.  When  at  the 
rehearsal  he  heard  the  effect  for  the  first  time,  he  threw  me  a 
really  grateful  glance,  and  so  much  appreciated  the  really  simple 
additions  I  had  made  to  his  score,  that  a  little  later  on  he  wrote 
me  a  very  friendly  letter  from  Paris  in  which  he  asked  me 
kindly  to  send  him  the  extra  instrumental  parts  I  had  prepared 
for  him.  His  pride  would  not  allow  him,  however,  to  ask 
outright  for  something  for  which  I  alone  had  been  responsible, 
so  he  wrote:  ' Envoy ez-moi  une  partition  des  trombones  pour 
la  marche  triomphale  et  de  la  Basse-tuba  telle  qu'elle  a  ete 
executee  sous  ma  direction  a  Dresde/  Apart  from  this,  I  also 
showed  how  greatly  I  respected  him,  in  the  eagerness  with 
which,  at  his  special  request,  I  regrouped  all  the  instruments 
in  the  orchestra.  He  was  forced  to  this  request  more  by  habit 
than  by  principle,  and  how  very  important  it  seemed  to  him 
not  to  make  the  slightest  change  in  his  customary  arrangements, 
was  proved  to  me  when  he  explained  his  method  of  conducting. 
He  conducted  the  orchestra,  so  he  said,  only  with  his  eyes: 
1  My  left  eye  is  the  first  violin,  my  right  eye  the  second,  and  if 
the  eye  is  to  have  power,  one  must  not  wear  glasses  (as  so 
many  bad  conductors  do),  even  if  one  is  short-sighted.  I,'  he 
admitted  confidentially,  '  cannot  see  twelve  inches  in  front  of 
me,  but  all  the  same  I  can  make  them  play  as  I  want,  merely 
by  fixing  them  with  my  eye.'  In  some  respects  the  arbitrary 
way  in  which  he  used  to  arrange  his  orchestra  was  really  very 
irrational.  From  his  old  days  in  Paris  he  had  retained  the 
habit  of  placing  the  two  oboists  immediately  behind  him,  and 
although  this  was  a  fad  which  owed  its  origin  to  a  mere  accident, 


SPONTINT  AND  THE  ORCHESTRA  343 

it  was  one  to  which  he  always  adhered.  The  consequence  was 
that  these  players  had  to  avert  the  mouthpiece  of  their  instru- 
ments from  the  audience,  and  our  excellent  oboist  was  so  angry 
about  this  arrangement,  that  it  was  only  by  dint  of  great  diplo- 
macy that  I  succeeded  in  pacifying  him. 

Apart  from  this,  Spontini's  method  was  based  upon  the  ab- 
solutely correct  system  (which  even  at  the  present  time  is  mis- 
understood by  some  German  orchestras)  of  spreading  the  string 
quartette  over  the  whole  orchestra.  This  system  further  con- 
sisted in  preventing  the  brass  and  percussion  instruments  from 
culminating  in  one  point  (and  drowning  each  other)  by  divid- 
ing them  on  both  sides,  and  by  placing  the  more  delicate  wind 
instruments  at  a  judicious  distance  from  each  other,  thus  form- 
ing a  chain  between  the  violins.  Even  some  great  and  cele- 
brated orchestras  of  the  present  day  still  retain  the  custom  of 
dividing  the  mass  of  instruments  into  two  halves,  the  string 
and  the  wind  instruments,  an  arrangement  that  denotes  rough- 
ness and  a  lack  of  understanding  of  the  sound  of  the 
orchestra,  which  ought  to  blend  harmoniously  and  be  well 
balanced. 

I  was  very  glad  to  have  the  chance  of  introducing  this  ex- 
cellent improvement  in  Dresden,  for  now  that  Spontini  himself 
had  initiated  it,  it  was  an  easy  matter  to  get  the  King's  command 
to  let  the  alteration  stand.  Nothing  remained  after  Spontini's 
departure  but  to  modify  and  correct  certain  eccentricities  and 
arbitrary  features  in  his  arrangements ;  and  from  that  moment 
I  attained  a  high  level  of  success  with  my  orchestra. 

With  all  the  peculiarities  he  showed  at  rehearsals,  this  excep- 
tional man  fascinated  both  musicians  and  singers  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  production  attracted  quite  an  unusual  amount 
of  attention.  Very  characteristic  was  the  energy  with  which 
he  insisted  on  exceptionally  sharp  rhythmic  accents;  through 
his  association  with  the  Berlin  orchestra  he  had  acquired  the 
habit  of  marking  the  note  that  he  wished  to  be  brought  out 
with  the  word  diese  (this),  which  at  first  was  quite  incompre- 
hensible to  me.  The  great  singer  Tichatschek,  who  had  a  posi- 
tive genius  for  rhythm,  was  highly  pleased  by  this;  for  he 
also  had  acquired  the  habit  of  compelling  the  chorus  to  great 
precision  in  very  important  entries,  and  maintained  that  if  one 


344  MY  LIFE 

only  accentuated  tKe  first  note  properly,  the  rest  followed  as  a 
matter  of  course.  On  the  whole,  therefore,  a  spirit  of  devotion 
to  the  master  gradually  pervaded  the  orchestra;  the  violas 
alone  bore  him  a  grudge  for  a  while,  and  for  this  reason.  In 
the  accompaniment  of  the  lugubrious  cantilena  of  Julia  at  the 
end  of  the  second  act,  he  would  not  put  up  with  the  way  in 
which  the  violas  played  the  horribly  sentimental  accompani- 
ment. Suddenly  turning  towards  them  he  called  in  a  sepulchral 
tone,  l  Are  the  violas  dying  ? '  The  two  pale  and  incurably 
melancholy  old  men  who  held  on  tenaciously  to  their  posts  in 
the  orchestra,  notwithstanding  their  right  to  a  pension,  stared 
at  Spontini  with  real  fright,  reading  a  threat  in  his  words,  and 
I  had  to  explain  Spontini's  wish  in  sober  language  in  order  to 
call  them  back  to  life. 

On  the  stage  Herr  Eduard  Devrient  helped  very  materially 
in  bringing  about  wonderfully  distinct  ensembles;  he  also  knew 
how  to  gratify  a  certain  wish  of  Spontini's,  which  threw  us 
all  into  tremendous  confusion.  In  accordance  with  the  cuts 
adopted  by  all  the  German  theatres,  we  too  ended  the  opera 
with  the  fiery  duet,  supported  by  the  chorus,  between  Licinius 
and  Julia  after  their  rescue.  The  master,  however,  insisted  on 
adding  a  lively  chorus  and  ballet  to  the  finale,  according  to  the 
antiquated  method  of  ending  common  to  French  opera  seria. 
He  was  absolutely  against  finishing  his  work  with  a  dismal 
churchyard  episode;  consequently  the  whole  scene  had  to  be 
altered.  Venus  was  to  shine  resplendent  in  a  rose  bower,  and 
the  long-suffering  lovers  were  to  be  wedded  at  her  altar,  amid 
lively  dancing  and  singing,  by  rose-bedecked  priests  and  priest- 
esses. We  performed  it  like  this,  but  unluckily  not  with  the 
success  we  had  all  hoped  for. 

In  the  course  of  the  production,  which  was  proceeding  with 
wonderful  accuracy  and  verve,  we  came  across  a  difficulty  with 
regard  to  the  principal  part  for  which  none  of  us  had  been 
prepared.  Our  great  Schroder-Devrient  was  obviously  no  longer 
of  an  age  to  give  the  desired  effect  as  the  youngest  of  the  vestal 
virgins;  she  had  acquired  matronly  contours,  and  her  age 
was  moreover  accentuated  by  the  extremely  girlish-looking  high- 
priestess  with  whom  she  had  to  act,  and  whose  youth  it 
was  difficult  to  dissimulate.  This  was  my  niece,  Johanna 


SCANT    SUCCESS  345 

Wagner,  who,  because  of  her  marvellous  voice  and  great  talent 
as  an  actress,  made  every  one  in  the  audience  long  to  see  the 
parts  of  the  two  women  reversed.  Schroder-Devrient,  who 
was  well  aware  of  this  fact,  tried  by  every  effective  means  in 
her  power  to  overcome  her  most  difficult  position;  this  effort, 
however,  resulted  not  infrequently  in  great  exaggeration  and 
straining  of  the  voice,  and  in  one  very  important  place  her 
part  was  sadly  overacted.  When,  after  the  great  trio  in  the 
second  act,  she  had  to  gasp  the  words, '  er  ist  frei '  ('  he  is  free  '), 
and  to  move  away  from  her  rescued  lover  towards  the  front  of 
the  stage,  she  made  the  mistake  of  speaking  the  words  instead 
of  singing  them. 

She  had  often  proved  the  effect  of  a  decisive  word  uttered 
with  an  exaggerated  and  yet  careful  imitation  of  the  ordinary 
accents  of  the  spoken  language,  by  exciting  the  audience's 
wildest  enthusiasm  when  she  almost  whispered  the  words, 
'  Noch  einen  Schritt  und  du  bist  todt! '  ('  Just  one  more  step  and 
thou  art  dead!  ')  in  Fidelia.  This  terrific  effect,  which  I  too 
had  felt,  was  produced  by  the  shock  —  like  unto  the  blow  of  an 
executioner's  axe  —  which  I  received  on  suddenly  coming  down 
from  the  ideal  sphere  to  which  music  itself  can  exalt  the  most 
awful  situations,  to  the  naked  surface  of  dreadful  reality.  This 
sensation  was  due  simply  to  the  knowledge  of  the  utmost 
height  of  the  sublime,  and  the  memory  of  the  impression  I 
received  led  me  to  call  that  particular  moment  the  moment 
of  lightning;  for  it  was  as  if  two  different  worlds  that  meet, 
and  yet  are  divided,  were  suddenly  illumined  and  revealed 
as  by  a  flash.  Thoroughly  to  understand  such  a  moment,  and 
not  to  treat  it  wrongly,  was  the  whole  secret,  and  this  I  fully 
realised  on  that  day  from  the  absolute  failure  on  the  great 
singer's  part  to  produce  the  right  effect.  The  toneless,  hoarse 
way  in  which  she  uttered  the  words  was  like  throwing  cold 
water  over  the  audience  and  myself,  and  not  one  of  those 
present  could  see  any  more  in  the  incident  than  a  botched 
theatrical  effect.  It  is  possible  that  the  public  had  expected 
too  much,  for  they  were  curious  to  see  Spontini  conduct,  and 
the  prices  had  been  raised  accordingly ;  it  may  also  have  been 
that  the  whole  style  of  the  work,  with  its  antiquated  French 
plot,  seemed  rather  obsolete  in  spite  of  the  majestic  beauty 


346  MY   LIFE 

of  the  music;  or,  perhaps,  the  very  tame  end  left  the  same 
cold  impression  as  Devrient's  dramatic  failure.  In  any  case 
there  was  no  real  enthusiasm,  and  the  only  sign  of  approval 
was  a  rather  lukewarm  call  for  the  celebrated  master,  who, 
covered  with  numerous  decorations,  made  a  sad  impression  on 
me  as  he  bowed  his  thanks  to  the  audience  for  their  very 
moderate  applause. 

Nobody  was  less  blind  to  the  somewhat  disappointing  result 
than  Spontini  himself.  He  decided,  however,  to  defy  fate,  and 
to  this  end  had  recourse  to  means  which  he  had  often  employed 
in  Berlin,  in  order  to  get  packed  houses  for  his  operatic  pro- 
ductions. Thus,  he  always  gave  Sunday  performances,  for 
experience  had  taught  him  that  he  could  always  have  a  full 
house  on  that  day.  As  the  next  Sunday  on  which  his  Vestalin 
was  to  be  produced  was  still  some  time  ahead,  his  prolonged 
stay  gave  us  several  more  chances  of  enjoying  his  interesting 
company.  I  have  such  a  vivid  recollection  of  .the  hours  spent 
with  him  either  at  Madame  Devrient's  or  at  my  house,  that 
I  shall  be  pleased  to  quote  a  few  reminiscences. 

I  shall  never  forget  a  dinner  at  Schrb'der-Devrient's  house 
at  which  we  had  a  charming  conversation  with  Spontini  and 
his  wife  (a  sister  of  the  celebrated  pianoforte  maker,  Erard). 
Spontini  generally  listened  deferentially  to  what  the  others  had 
to  say,  his  attitude  being  that  of  a  man  who  expected  to  be 
asked  for  his  opinion.  When  he  did  speak  in  the  end  it  was 
with  a  sort  of  rhetorical  solemnity,  in  sharp  and  precise  sen- 
tences, categorical  and  well  accentuated,  which  forbade  con- 
tradiction from  the  outset.  Herr  Ferdinand  Hiller  was  among 
the  invited  guests,  and  he  began  to  speak  about  Liszt.  After 
some  time  Spontini  gave  his  opinion  in  his  characteristic  fashion, 
but  in  a  spirit  which  showed  only  too  clearly,  that  from  the 
heights  of  his  Berlin  throne  he  had  not  judged  the  affairs 
of  the  world  either  with  impartiality  or  goodwill.  While  he 
was  laying  down  the  law  in  this  style  he  could  not  brook  any 
interruption.  When,  therefore,  during  the  dessert,  the  general 
conversation  became  livelier,  and  Madame  Devrient  happened 
to  laugh  with  her  neighbour  at  the  table  in  the  middle  of  a 
long  harangue  of  Spontini's,  he  shot  an  extremely  angry  glance 
at  his  wife.  Madame  Devrient  apologised  for  her  at  once  by 


SPONTINI  347 

saying  that  it  was  she  (Madame  Devrient)  who  had  been  laugh- 
ing about  some  lines  on  a  bonbonniere,  whereupon  Spontini 
retorted :  '  Pourtant  je  suis  sur  que  c'est  ma  femme  qui  a 
suscite  ce  rire;  je  ne  veux  pas  que  I' on  rie  devant  moi,  je  ne  rie 
jamais  moi,  j'aime  le  serieux.'  In  spite  of  that  he  sometimes 
succeeded  in  being  jovial.  For  instance,  it  amused  him  to  set 
us  all  wondering  at  the  way  in  which  he  crunched  enormous 
lumps  of  sugar  with  his  marvellous  teeth.  After  dinner,  when 
we  drew  our  chairs  closer  together,  he  usually  became  very 
excited. 

As  far  as  he  was  capable  of  affection  he  seemed  really  to  like 
me;  he  declared  openly  that  he  loved  me,  and  said  that  he 
would  prove  this  best  by  trying  to  keep  me  from  the  misfortune 
of  proceeding  in  my  career  as  a  dramatic  composer.  He  said 
he  knew  it  would  be  difficult  to  convince  me  of  the  value  of  this 
friendly  service,  but  as  he  felt  it  his  sacred  duty  to  look  after 
my  happiness  in  this  particular  line,  he  was  prepared  to  stay  in 
Dresden  for  another  half-year,  during  which  period  he  sug- 
gested that  we  should  produce  his  other  operas,  and  especially 
Agnes  von  Hohenstaufen,  under  his  direction.  To  explain  his 
views  about  the  fatal  mistake  of  trying  to  succeed  as  a  dramatic 
composer  l  after  Spontini,'  he  began  by  praising  me  in  these 
terms :  '  Quand  j'ai  entendu  votre  Rienzi,  j'ai  dit,  c'est  un 
homme  de  genie,  mais  deja  il  a  plus  fait  qu'il  ne  pent  faire.' 
In  order  to  show  me  what  he  meant  by  this  paradox,  he  pro- 
ceeded as  follows :  '  Apres  Gluck  c'est  moi  qui  ai  fait  la  grande 
revolution  avec  la  Vestale ;  j'ai  introduit  le  Vorhalt  de  la  sexte ' 
(the  suspension  of  the  sixth)  '  dans  I'harmonie  et  la  grosse  caisse 
dans  I'orchestre;  avec  Cortez  j'ai  fait  un  pas  de  plus  en  avant; 
puis  j'ai  fait  trois  pas  avec  Olympie.  Nurmahal,  Alcidor  et  tout 
ce  que  j'ai  fait  dans  les  premiers  temps  a  Berlin,  je  vous  les  lime, 
c'etaient  des  ceuvres  occasionnelles ;  mais  depuis  j'ai  fait  cent  pas 
en  avant  avec  Agnes  de  Hohenstaufen,  ou  j'ai  imagine  un  emploi 
de  I'orchestre  remplagant  parfaitement  I'orgue.' 

Since  then  he  had  tried  his  hand  at  a  new  work,  Les  Atheni- 

ennes;   the  Crown  Prince  (now  King  of  Prussia1)  had  urged 

him  to  finish  this  work,  and  to  testify  to  the  truth  of  his  words, 

he  took  several  letters  which  he  had  received  from  this  monarch 

1  William  the  First. 


348  MY   LIFE 

out  of  his  pocket-book,  and  handed  them  to  us  for  inspection. 
Not  until  he  had  insisted  upon  our  reading  them  carefully 
through  did  he  continue  by  saying  that,  in  spite  of  this  natter- 
ing invitation,  he  had  given  up  the  idea  of  setting  this  excellent 
subject  to  music,  because  he  felt  sure  he  could  never  surpass 
his  Agnes  von  Hohenstaufen,  nor  invent  anything  new.  In 
conclusion  he  said :  i  Or,  comment  voulez-vous  que  quiconque 
puisse  inventer  quelque  chose  de  nouveau,  moi  Spontini  declarant 
ne  pouvoir  en  aucune  fagon  surpasser  mes  ceuvres  precedentes, 
d'autre  part  etant  avise  que  depuis  la  Vestale  il  n'a  point  ete 
ecrit  une  note  qui  ne  fut  volee  de  mes  partitions' 

To  prove  that  this  assertion  was  not  merely  talk,  but  that  it 
was  based  on  scientific  investigations,  he  quoted  his  wife,  who 
was  supposed  to  have  read  with  him  an  elaborate  discussion  on 
the  subject  by  a  celebrated  member  of  the  French  academy, 
and  he  added  that  the  essay  in  question  had,  for  some  mysterious 
reason,  never  been  printed.  In  this  very  important  and  sci- 
entific treatise  it  was  proved  that  without  Spontini's  inven- 
tion of  the  suspension  of  the  sixth  in  his  Vestalin,  the  whole  of 
modern  melody  would  not  have  existed,  and  that  any  and 
every  form  of  melody  that  had  been  used  since  had  been  bor- 
rowed from  his  compositions.  I  was  thunderstruck,  but  hoped 
all  the  same  to  bring  the  inexorable  master  to  a  better  frame 
of  mind,  especially  in  regard  to  certain  reservations  he  had 
made.  I  acknowledged  that  the  academician  in  question  was 
right  in  many  ways,  but  I  asked  him  if  he  did  not  believe  that 
if  somebody  brought  him  a  dramatic  poem  full  of  an  abso- 
lutely new  and  hitherto  unknown  spirit,  it  would  not  inspire 
him  to  invent  new  musical  combinations  ?  With  a  ring  of  com- 
passion in  his  voice,  he  replied  that  my  question  was  wholly 
mistaken ;  in  what  would  the  novelty  consist  ?  *  Dans  la  Ves- 
tale j'ai  compose  un  sujet  romain,  dans  Ferdinand  Cortez 
un  sujet  espagnol-mexicain,  dans  Olympic  un  sujet  greco- 
macedonien,  enfin  dans  Agnes  de  Hohenstaufen  un  sujet  alle- 
mand:  tout  le  reste  ne  vaut  rien! '  He  hoped  that  I  was  not 
thinking  of  the  so-called  romantic  style  a  la  Freischutz?  With 
such  childish  stuff  no  serious  man  could  have  anything  to  do; 
for  art  was  a  serious  thing,  and  he  had  exhausted  serious  art! 
And,  after  all,  what  nation  could  produce  the  composer  who 


SPONTINI  349 

could  surpass  him?  Surely  not  the  Italians,  whom  he  char- 
acterised simply  as  cochons;  certainly  not  the  French,  who  had 
only  imitated  the  Italians;  nor  the  Germans,  who  would  never 
get  beyond  their  childhood  in  music,  and  who,  if  they  had  ever 
possessed  any  talent,  had  had  it  all  spoilt  for  them  by  the 
Jews  ?  '  Oh,  croyez-moi,  il  y  avait  de  I'espoir  pour  I'Allemagne 
lorsque  j'etais  empereur  de  la  musique  a  Berlin;  mais  depuis 
que  le  roi  de  Prusse  a  livre  sa  musique  au  desordre  occasionne 
par  les  deux  juifs  er  rants  qu'il  a  attires,  tout  espoir  est  perdu.' 

Our  charming  hostess  now  thought  it  time  to  change  the  sub- 
ject, and  to  divert  the  master's  thoughts.  The  theatre  was 
situated  quite  near  to  her  house;  she  invited  him  to  go  across 
with  our  friend  Heine,  who  was  amongst  the  guests,  and  to 
have  a  look  at  Antigone,  which  was  then  being  given,  and  which 
was  sure  to  interest  him  on  account  of  the  antique  equipment 
of  the  stage,  which  had  been  carried  out  according  to  Semper's 
excellent  plans.  At  first  he  wanted  to  refuse,  on  the  plea  that 
he  had  seen  all  this  so  much  better  when  his  Olympia  had 
been  performed.  After  a  while  he  consented;  but  in  a  very 
short  time  he  returned  to  his  original  opinion,  and,  smiling 
scornfully,  assured  us  that  he  had  seen  and  heard  enough  to 
strengthen  him  in  his  verdict.  Heine  told  us  that  shortly  after 
he  and  Spontini  had  taken  their  seats  in  the  almost  empty 
amphitheatre,  and  as  soon  as  the  Bacchus  chorus  had  started, 
Spontini  had  said  to  him :  '  C'est  de  la  Berliner  Sing-Academie, 
allons-nous-en.'  Through  an  open  door  a  streak  of  light  had 
fallen  on  a  lonely  figure  behind  one  of  the  columns ;  Heine  had 
recognised  Mendelssohn,  and  concluded  that  he  had  overheard 
Spontini's  remark. 

From  the  master's  very  excited  conversations  we  soon  realised 
very  distinctly  that  he  intended  to  stay  longer  in  Dresden,  so 
as  to  get  all  his  operas  performed.  It  was  Schrb'der-Devrient's 
idea  to  save  Spontini,  in  his  own  interest,  from  the  mortifying 
disappointment  of  finding  all  his  enthusiastic  hopes  in  regard 
to  a  second  performance  of  Vestalin  unfounded,  and,  if  possible, 
to  prevent  this  second  performance  during  his  stay  in  Dresden. 
She  pretended  to  be  ill,  and  the  director  requested  me  to 
inform  Spontini  of  the  fact  that  his  production  would  have 
to  be  indefinitely  postponed.  This  visit  was  so  distasteful  to 


350  MY   LIFE 

me,  that  I  was  glad  to  make  it  in  Rockel's  company.  He  was 
also  a  friend  of  Spontini's,  and  his  French  was  moreover  much 
better  than  mine.  As  we  were  quite  prepared  for  a  bad  re- 
ception, we  were  really  frightened  to  enter.  Imagine,  therefore, 
our  astonishment  when  we  found  the  master,  who  had  already 
been  informed  of  the  news  in  a  letter  from  Devrient,  in  the 
very  brightest  spirits. 

He  told  us  that  he  had  to  leave  immediately  for  Paris,  and 
that  from  there  he  was  to  travel  to  Rome,  the  Holy  Father 
having  commanded  him  to  come  in  order  to  receive  the  title 
of  '  Count  of  San  Andrea.'  Then  he  showed  us  a  second  docu- 
ment, in  which  the  King  of  Denmark  was  supposed  to  have 
raised  him  to  the  Danish  nobility.  This  meant,  however,  only 
that  the  title  of  '  Hitter '  of  the  (  Elephanten-Order  '  had  been 
conferred  upon  him;  and  although  this  was  indeed  a  high 
honour,  in  speaking  about  it  he  only  mentioned  the  word 
*  Hitter '  without  referring  to  the  particular  order,  because  this 
seemed  to  him  too  ordinary  for  a  person  of  his  dignity.  He 
was,  however,  childishly  pleased  over  the  affair,  and  felt  that 
he  had  been  miraculously  rescued  from  the  narrow  sphere  of 
his  Dresden  Vestalin  production  to  find  himself  suddenly  trans- 
ported into  regions  of  glory,  from  which  he  looked  down  upon 
the  distressing  (  opera  '  world  with  sublime  self -content. 

Meanwhile  Rb'ckel  and  I  silently  thanked  the  Holy  Father 
and  the  King  of  Denmark  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts.  We 
hide  an  affectionate  farewell  to  the  strange  master,  and  to 
cheer  him  I  promised  him  seriously  to  think  over  his  friendly 
advice  with  regard  to  my  career  as  a  composer  of  opera. 

Later  on  I  heard  what  Spontini  had  said  about  me,  on  hear- 
ing that  I  had  fled  from  Dresden  for  political  reasons,  and  had 
sought  refuge  in  Switzerland.  He  thought  that  this  was  in 
consequence  of  my  share  in  a  plot  of  high  treason  against  the 
King  of  Saxony,  whom  he  looked  upon  as  my  benefactor,  be- 
cause I  had  been  nominated  conductor  of  the  royal  orchestra, 
and  he  expressed  his  opinion  about  me  by  ejaculating  in  tones 
of  the  deepest  anguish :  '  Quelle  ingratitude  ! ' 

From  Berlioz,  who  was  at  Spontini's  deathbed  until  the  end, 
I  hea.rd  that  the  master  had  struggled  most  determinedly 
against  death,  and  had  cried  repeatedly,  '  Je  ne  veux  pas 


SPONTINI.     CONCLUSION  351 

mourir,  je  ne  veux  pas  mourir!'  When  Berlioz  tried  to  com- 
fort him  by  saying,  '  Comment  pouvez-vous  penser  mourir  vous, 
mon  maitre,  qui  etes  immortel! '  Spontini  retorted  angrily, 
'  Ne  faites  pas  de  mauvaises  plaisanteries ! '  In  spite  of  all 
the  extraordinary  experiences  I  had  had  with  him,  the  news 
of  his  death,  which  I  received  in  Zurich,  touched  me  very  deeply. 
Later  on  I  expressed  my  feelings  towards  him,  and  my  opinion 
of  him  as  an  artist,  in  a  somewhat  condensed  form  in  the 
Eidgenossischen  Zeitung,  and  in  this  article  the  quality  I  ex- 
tolled more  particularly  in  him  was  that,  unlike  Meyerbeer, 
who  was  then  the  rage,  and  the  very  aged  Rossini,  he  believed 
absolutely  in  himself  and  his  art.  All  the  same,  and  somewhat 
to  my  disgust,  I  could  not  but  see  that  this  belief  in  himself 
had  deteriorated  into  a  veritable  superstition. 

I  do  not  remember  in  those  days  having  gone  deeply  into 
my  feelings  about  Spontini's  exceedingly  strange  individuality, 
nor  do  I  recollect  having  troubled  to  discover  how  far  they 
were  consistent  with  the  high  opinion  I  formed  of  him  after 
I  had  got  to  know  him  more  intimately.  Obviously  I  had  only 
seen  the  caricature  of  the  man,  although  the  tendency  towards 
such  plainly  overweening  self-confidence  may,  at  all  events, 
have  manifested  itself  earlier  in  life.  At  the  same  time,  one 
could  trace  in  all  this  the  influence  of  the  decay  of  the  musical 
and  dramatic  life  of  the  period,  which  Spontini,  situated  as  he 
was  in  Berlin,  was  well  able  to  witness.  The  surprising  fact 
that  he  saw  his  chief  merit  in  unessential  details  showed  plainly 
that  his  judgment  had  become  childish;  in  my  opinion  this 
did  not  detract  from  the  great  value  of  his  works,  however  much 
he  might  exaggerate  their  value.  In  a  sense  I  could  justify  his 
boundless  self-confidence,  which  was  principally  the  outcome 
of  the  comparison  between  himself  and  the  great  composers 
who  were  now  replacing  him;  for  in  my  heart  of  hearts  I 
shared  the  contempt  which  he  felt  for  these  artists,  although 
I  did  not  dare  to  say  so  openly.  And  thus  it  came  about  that, 
in  spite  of  his  many  somewhat  absurd  idiosyncrasies,  I  learned 
during  this  meeting  at  Dresden  to  feel  a  deep  sympathy  for  this 
man,  the  like  of  whom  I  was  never  again  to  meet. 

My  next  experiences  of  important  musical  celebrities  of  this 
age  were  of  quite  a  different  character.  Amongst  the  more 


MY  LIFE 

distinguished  of  these  was  Heinrich  Marschner^who,  as  a  very 
young  man,  had  been  nominated  musical  director  of"  the  Dresden 
orchestra  by  Weber.  After  Weber's  death  he  seemed  to  have 
hoped  that  he  would  take  his  place  entirely,  and  it  was  due 
less  to  the  fact  that  his  talent  was  still  unknown,  than  to  his 
repellent  manner,  that  he  was  disappointed  in  his  expectations. 
His  wife,  however,  suddenly  came  into  some  money,  and  this 
windfall  enabled  him  to  devote  all  his  energies  to  his  work 
as  composer  of  operas,  without  being  obliged  to  fill  any  fixed 
post. 

During  the  wild  days  of  my  youth  Marschner  lived  in  Leipzig, 
where  his  operas  Der  Vampir  and  Templer  und  Judin  saw 
their  first  appearance.  My  sister  Rosalie  had  once  taken  me 
to  him  in  order  to  hear  his  opinion  about  ma  He  did  not 
treat  me  uncivilly,  but  my  visit  led  to  nothing.  I  was  also 
present  at  the  first  night  of  his  opera  Des  Falkner's  Braut, 
which  however  was  not  a  success.  Then  he  went  to  Hanover. 
His  opera  Hans  Heiling,  which  was  originally  produced  in 
Berlin,  I  heard  for  the  first  time  in  Wurzburg;  it  showed 
vacillation  in  its  tendency,  and  a  decrease  in  constructive  power. 
After  that  he  produced  several  other  operas,  such  as  Das 
Schloss  am  Aetna  and  Der  Babu,  which  never  became  popular. 
He  was  always  neglected  by  the  management  at  Dresden,  as 
though  they  bore  him  some  grudge,  and  only  his  Templer  was 
played  at  all  often.  My  colleague,  Reissiger,  had  to  conduct 
this  opera,  and  as  in  his  absence  I  always  had  to  take  his 
place,  it  also  fell  to  my  lot  on  one  occasion  to  direct  a  per- 
formance of  this  work. 

This  was  during  the  time  that  I  worked  at  my  Tannhauser. 
I  remember  that,  although  I  had  often  conducted  this  opera 
before  in  Magdeburg,  on  this  occasion  the  wild  nature  of  the 
instrumentation  and  its  lack  of  mastership  affected  me  to 
such  an  extent  that  it  literally  made  me  ill,  and  as  soon  as  he 
returned,  therefore,  I  implored  Reissiger  at  any  cost  to  resume 
the  leadership.  On  the  other  hand,  immediately  after  my 
nomination  I  had  started  on  the  production  of  Hans  Heiling, 
but  merely  for  the  sake  of  the  artistic  honour.  The  insuffi- 
cient distribution  of  the  parts,  however,  a  difficulty  which  in 
those  days  could  not  be  overcome,  made  a  complete  success 


'ADOLPH   VON   NASSAU'  353 

impossible.  In  any  case,  though,  the  whole  spirit  of  the  work 
seemed  to  be  terribly  old-fashioned. 

I  now  heard  that  Marschner  had  finished  another  opera 
called  Adolph  von  Nassau,  and  in  a  criticism  of  this  work,  of 
the  genuineness  of  which  I  was  unable  to  judge,  particular 
stress  was  laid  upon  the  '  patriotic  and  noble  German  atmo- 
sphere '  of  this  new  creation.  I  did  my  best  to  make  the 
Dresden  theatre  take  the  initiative,  and  to  urge  Liittichau 
to  secure  this  opera  before  it  was  produced  elsewhere.  Marsch- 
ner, who  did  not  seem  to  have  been  treated  with  particular 
consideration  by  the  Hanoverian  opera  authorities,  accepted 
the  invitation  with  great  joy,  sent  his  score,  and  declared  him- 
self willing  to  come  to  Dresden  for  the  first  performance. 
Liittichau,  however,  was  not  anxious  to  see  him  take  his  place 
at  the  head  of  the  orchestra;  while  I,  also,  was  of  the  opinion 
that  the  too  frequent  appearance  of  outside  conductors,  even 
if  it  were  for  the  purpose  of  conducting  their  own  works,  would 
not  only  lead  to  confusion,  but  might  also  fail  to  be  as  amus- 
ing and  instructive  as  Spontini's  visit  had  proved  to  be.  It 
was  therefore  decided  that  I  should  conduct  the  new  opera  my- 
self. And  how  I  lived  to  regret  it! 

The  score  arrived:  to  a  weak  plot  by  Karl  Golmick  the 
composer  of  the  Templer  had  written  such  superficial  music, 
that  the  principal  effect  lay  in  a  drinking  song  for  a  quartette, 
in  which  the  German  Rhine  and  German  wine  played  the  usual 
stereotyped  part  peculiar  to  such  male  quartettes.  I  lost  all 
courage;  but  we  had  to  go  on  with  it  now,  and  all  I  could 
do  was  to  try,  by  maintaining  a  grave  bearing,  to  make  the 
singers  take  an  interest  in  their  task;  this,  however,  was  not 
easy.  To  Tichatschek  and  Mitterwurzer  were  assigned  the 
two  principal  male  parts;  being  both  eminently  musical,  they 
sang  everything  at  first  sight,  and  after  each  number  looked 
up  at  me  as  if  to  say,  '  What  do  you  think  of  it  all  ? '  I 
maintained  that  it  was  good  German  music;  they  must  not 
allow  themselves  to  get  confused.  But  all  they  did  was  to  stare 
at  each  other  in  amazement,  not  knowing  what  to  make  of 
me.  Nevertheless,  in  the  end  they  could  not  stand  it  any 
longer,  and  when  they  saw  that  I  still  retained  my  gravity, 
they  burst  into  loud  laughter,  in  which  I  could  not  help  joining. 


354  MY   LIFE 

I  now  had  to  take  them  into  my  confidence,  and  make  them 
promise  to  follow  my  lead  and  pretend  to  be  serious,  for  it 
was  impossible  to  give  up  the  opera  at  this  stage.  A  Viennese 
'  colorature '  singer  of  the  latest  style  —  Madame  Spatser 
Gentiluomo  —  who  came  to  us  from  Hanover,  and  on  whose 
services  Marschner  greatly  relied,  was  rather  taken  with  her 
part  chiefly  because  it  gave  her  the  chance  of  showing 
'  brilliancy.'  And,  indeed,  there  was  a  finale  in  which  my 
'  German  master '  had  actually  tried  to  steal  a  march  on 
Donizetti.  The  Princess  had  been  poisoned  by  a  golden  rose, 
a  present  from  the  wicked  Bishop  of  Mainz,  and  had  become 
delirious.  Adolph  von  Nassau,  with  the  knights  of  the  German 
empire,  swears  vengeance,  and,  accompanied  by  the  chorus, 
pours  out  his  feelings  in  a  stretta  of  such  incredible  vulgarity 
and  amateurishness  that  Donizetti  would  have  thrown  it  at 
the  head  of  any  of  his  pupils  who  had  dared  to  compose  such 
a  thing.  Marschner  now  arrived  for  the  dress  rehearsal; 
he  was  very  pleased,  and,  without  compelling  me  to  falsehood, 
he  gave  me  sufficient  opportunities  for  exercising  my  powers 
in  the  art  of  concealing  my  real  thoughts.  At  all  events  I 
must  have  succeeded  fairly  well,  for  he  had  every  reason  to 
think  himself  considerately  and  kindly  treated  by  me. 

During  the  performance  the  public  behaved  very  much  as 
the  singers  had  done  at  the  rehearsals.  We  had  brought  a 
still-born  child  into  the  world.  But  Marschner  was  comforted 
by  the  fact  that  his  drinking  quartette  was  encored.  This  was 
reminiscent  of  one  of  Becker's  songs:  Sie  sollen  ilin  nicht 
Tidben,  den  freien  deutschen  Rhein  ('  They  shall  not  have  it, 
our  free  German  Rhine ').  After  the  performance  the  com- 
poser was  my  guest  at  a  supper  party  at  which,  I  am  sorry  to 
say,  the  singers,  who  had  had  enough  of  it,  would  not  attend. 
Herr  Ferdinand  Hiller  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  insist,  in 
his  toast  to  Marschner,  that  l  whatever  one  might  say,  all 
stress  must  be  laid  on  the  German  master  and  German  art.' 
Strangely  enough,  Marschner  himself  contradicted  him  by 
saying  that  there  was  something  wrong  with  German  operatic 
compositions,  and  that  one  ought  to  consider  the  singers  and 
how  to  write  more  brilliantly  for  their  voices  than  he  had 
succeeded  in  doing  up  to  the  present. 


FERDINAND   KILLER  355 

Highly  gifted  as  Marschner  was,  there  can  be  no  doubt 
that  the  decline  of  his  genius  was  due  partly  to  a  tendency 
which  even  in  the  ageing  master  himself,  as  he  frankly  admitted, 
was  effecting  an  important  and  most  salutary  change.  In 
later  years  I  met  him  once  more  in  Paris  at  the  time  of  my 
memorable  production  of  Tannhduser.  I  did  not  feel  inclined 
to  renew  the  old  relations,  for,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  wanted  to 
spare  myself  the  unpleasantness  of  witnessing  the  consequences 
of  his  change  of  views,  of  which  we  had  seen  the  beginning  in 
Dresden.  I  learned  that  he  was  in  a  state  of  almost  helpless 
childishness,  and  that  he  was  in  the  hands  of  a  young  and 
ambitious  woman,  who  was  trying  to  make  a  last  attempt 
at  conquering  Paris  for  him.  Among  other  puff  paragraphs 
calculated  to  spread  Marschner's  glory,  I  read  one  which  said 
that  the  Parisians  must  not  believe  that  I  (Wagner)  was 
representative  of  German  art;  no  —  if  only  Marschner  were 
given  a  hearing,  it  would  be  discovered  that  he  was  beyond 
a  doubt  better  suited  to  the  French  taste  than  I  could  ever  be. 
Marschner  died  before  his  wife  had  succeeded  in  establishing 
this  point. 

!Egrdinand_Hiller^  on  the  other  hand,  who  was  in  Dresden, 
behaved  in  a  very  charming  and  friendly  manner,  particularly 
at  this  time.  Meyerbeer  also  stayed  in  the  same  town  from 
time  to  time;  precisely  why,  nobody  knew.  Once  he  had 
rented  a  little  house  for  the  summer  near  the  Pirnaischer 
Schlag,  and  under  a  pretty  tree  in  the  garden  of  this  place 
he  had  had  a  small  piano  installed,  whereon,  in  this  idyllic 
retreat,  he  worked  at  his  Feldlager  in  Schlesien.  He  lived  in 
great  retirement,  and  I  saw  very  little  of  him.  Ferdinand 
Hiller,  on  the  contrary,  took  a  commanding  position  in  the 
Dresden  musical  world  in  so  far  as  this  was  not  already 
monopolised  by  the  royal  orchestra  and  its  masters,  and  for 
many  years  he  worked  hard  for  its  success.  Having  a  little 
private  capital,  he  established  himself  comfortably  amongst  us, 
and  was  soon  known  as  a  delightful  host,  who  kept  a  pleasant 
house,  which,  thanks  to  his  wife's  influence,  was  frequented 
by  a  numerous  Polish  colony.  Frau  Hiller  was  indeed  an 
exceptional  Jewish  woman  of  Polish  origin,  and  she  was 
perhaps  all  the  more  exceptional  seeing  that  she,  in  company 


356  MY   LIFE 

with  her  husband,  had  been  baptized  a  Protestant  in  Italy. 
Hiller  began  his  career  in  Dresden  with  the  production  of  his 
opera,  Der  Traum  in  der  Christnacht.  Since  the  unheard-of 
fact  that  Rienzi  had  been  able  to  rouse  the  Dresden  public  to 
lasting  enthusiasm,  many  an  opera  composer  had  felt  himself 
drawn  towards  our  '  Florence  on  the  Elbe,'  of  which  Laube 
once  said  that  as  soon  as  one  entered  it  one  felt  bound  to 
apologise  because  one  found  so  many  good  things  there  which 
one  promptly  forgot  the  moment  one  departed. 

The  composer  of  Der  Traum  in  der  Cliristnacht  looked  upon 
this  work  as  a  peculiarly  '  German  composition.'  Hiller  had 
set  to  music  a  gruesome  play  by  Raupach,  Der  Muller  und 
sein  Kind  ('  The  Miller  and  his  Child '),  in  which  father  and 
daughter,  within  but  a  short  space  of  time,  both  die  of  con- 
sumption. He  declared  that  he  had  conceived  the  dialogue 
and  the  music  of  this  opera  in  what  he  called  the  '  popular 
style,'  but  this  work  met  with  the  same  fate  as  that  which, 
according  to  Liszt,  befell  all  his  compositions.  In  spite  of 
his  undoubted  musical  merits,  which  even  Rossini  acknowl- 
edged, and  whether  he  gave  them  in  French  in  Paris  or  in 
Italian  in  Italy,  it  was  his  sad  experience  always  to  see  his 
operas  fail.  In  Germany  he  had  tried  the  Mendelssohnian 
style,  and  had  succeeded  in  composing  an  oratorio  called  Die 
Zerstorung  Jerusalems,  which  luckily  was  not  taken  notice  of 
by  the  moody  theatre-going  public,  and  which  consequently 
received  the  unassailable  reputation  of  being  i  a  solid  German 
work.'  He  also  took  Mendelssohn's  place  as  director  of  the 
Leipzig  Gewandhaus  concerts  when  the  latter  was  called  to 
Berlin  in  the  capacity  of  general  director.  Hiller's  evil  fortune 
still  pursued  him,  however,  and  he  was  unable  to  retain  his 
position,  everybody  being  given  to  understand  that  it  was 
because  his  wife  was  not  sufficiently  acknowledged  as  concert 
prima-donna.  Mendelssohn  returned  and  made  Hiller  leave, 
and  Hiller  boasted  of  having  quarrelled  with  him. 

Dresden  and  the  success  of  my  Rienzi  now  weighed  so  much 
upon  his  mind  that  he  naturally  made  another  attempt  to 
succeed  as  an  opera  composer.  Owing  to  his  great  energy, 
and  to  his  position  as  son  of  a  rich  banker  (a  special  attraction 
even  to  the  director  of  a  court  theatre),  it  happened  that  he 


C.  M.  WEBER'S  ASHES  (1844)  357 

induced  them  to  put  aside  my  poor  friend  Rockel's  Farinelli 
(the  production  of  which  had  been  promised  him)  in  favour  of 
his  (Hiller's)  own  work,  Der  Traum  in  der  Christnacht.  He 
was  of  the  opinion  that  next  to  Reissiger  and  myself,  a  man  of 
greater  musical  reputation  than  Rockel  was  needed.  Liitti- 
chau,  however,  was  quite  content  to  have  Reissiger  and  myself 
as  celebrities,  particularly  as  we  got  on  so  well  together,  and 
he  remained  deaf  to  Hiller's  wishes.  To  me  Der  Traum  in  der 
Christnacht  was  a  great  nuisance.  I  had  to  conduct  it  a  second 
time,  and  before  an  empty  house.  Hiller  now  saw  that  he  had 
been  wrong  in  not  taking  my  advice  before,  and  in  not  shorten- 
ing the  opera  by  one  act  and  altering  the  end,  and  he  now 
fancied  that  he  was  doing  me  a  great  favour  by  at  last  declaring 
himself  ready  to  act  on  my  suggestion  in  the  event  of  another 
performance  of  his  opera  being  possible.  I  really  managed  to 
have  it  played  once  more.  This  was,  however,  to  be  the  last 
time,  and  Hiller,  who  had  read  my  book  of  Tanrihauser,  thought 
that  I  had  a  great  advantage  over  him  in  writing  my  own  words. 
He  therefore  made  me  promise  to  help  him  with  the  choice  and 
writing  of  a  subject  for  his  next  opera. 

Shortly  afterwards  Hiller  was  present  at  a  performance  of 
Rienzi,  which  was  again  given  before  a  crowded  and  enthusi- 
astic house.  When,  at  the  end  of  the  second  act,  and  after 
frantic  recalls  from  the  audience,  I  left  the  orchestra  in  a  great 
state  of  excitement,  Hiller,  who  was  waiting  for  me  in  the 
passage,  took  the  opportunity  of  adding  to  his  very  hasty 
congratulations,  '  Do  give  my  Traum  once  more ! '  I  promised 
him  laughingly  to  do  this  if  I  had  the  chance,  but  I  can- 
not remember  whether  it  came  off  or  not.  While  he  was 
waiting  for  the  creation  of  an  entirely  new  plot  for  his  next 
opera,  Hiller  devoted  himself  to  the  study  of  chamber  music, 
to  which  his  large  and  well-furnished  room  lent  itself  most 
admirably. 

A  beautiful  and  solemn  event  added  to  the  seriousness  of  the 
mood  in  which  I  finished  the  music  to  Tannhduser  towards  the 
end  of  the  year,  and  neutralised  the  more  superficial  impres- 
sions made  upon  me  by  the  stirring  events  above  described. 
This  was  the  removal  of  the  remains  of  Carl  Maria  von  Weber 
from  London  to  Dresden  in  December,  1844.  As  I  have  already 


358  MY   LIFE 

said,  a  committee  had  for  years  been  agitating  for  this  removal. 
From  information  given  by  a  certain  traveller,  it  had  become 
known  that  the  insignificant  coffin  which  contained  Weber's 
ashes  had  been  disposed  of  in  such  a  careless  way  in  a  remote 
corner  of  St.  Paul's,  that  it  was  feared  it  might  soon  become 
impossible  to  identify  it. 

My  energetic  friend,  Professor  Lowe,  whom  I  have  already 
mentioned,  had  availed  himself  of  this  information  in  order  to 
urge  the  Dresden  Glee  Club,  which  constituted  his  hobby,  to 
take  the  matter  in  hand.  The  concert  of  male  singers  arranged 
to  this  end  had  been  a  fair  success  financially,  and  they  now 
wanted  to  induce  the  theatre  management  to  make  similar 
efforts,  when  suddenly  they  met  with  serious  opposition  from 
this  very  quarter.  The  management  of  the  Dresden  theatre 
told  the  committee  that  the  King  had  religious  scruples  with 
regard  to  disturbing  the  peace  of  the  dead.  However  much 
we  felt  inclined  to  doubt  the  genuineness  of  these  reasons, 
nothing  could  be  done,  and  I  was  next  approached  on  the 
subject,  in  the  hope  that  my  influential  position  might  lend 
weight  to  my  appeal.  I  entered  into  the  spirit  of  the  enter- 
prise with  great  fervour.  I  consented  to  be  made  president; 
Herr  Hofrat  Schulz,  director  of  the  '  Antiken-Cabinet,'  who  was 
a  well-known  authority  on  artistic  matters,  and  another  gentle- 
man, a  Christian  banker,  were  also  elected  members  of  the 
committee,  and  the  movement  thus  received  fresh  life.  Pro- 
spectuses were  sent  round,  exhaustive  plans  were  made,  and 
numerous  meetings  held.  Here,  again,  I  met  with  opposition 
on  the  part  of  my  chief,  Liittichau;  if  he  could  have  done  so, 
he  would  have  forbidden  me  to  move  in  the  matter  by  making 
the  most  of  the  King's  scruples  referred  to  above.  But  he  had 
had  a  warning  not  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  me  after  his  experience 
in  the  summer,  when,  contrary  to  his  expectations,  the  music 
written  by  me  to  celebrate  the  King's  arrival  had  found  favour 
with  the  monarch.  As  his  antipathy  to  the  proceedings  was 
not  so  very  serious,  Liittichau  must  have  seen  that  even  the 
direct  opposition  of  his  Majesty  could  not  have  prevented 
the  enterprise  from  being  carried  out  privately,  and  that,  on 
the  contrary,  the  court  would  cut  a  sorry  figure  if  the  Royal 
Court  Theatre  (to  which  Weber  once  belonged)  should  assume 


359 

a  hostile  attitude.  He  therefore  tried  in  a  would-be  friendly 
way  to  make  me  desist  from  furthering  the  cause,  well  knowing 
that,  without  me,  the  plan  would  fail.  He  tried  to  convince 
me  that  it  would  be  wrong  to  pay  this  exaggerated  honour  to 
Weber's  memory,  whereas  nobody  thought  of  removing  the 
ashes  of  Morlacchi  from  Italy,  although  the  latter  had  given 
his  services  to  the  royal  orchestra  for  a  much  longer  period 
than  Weber  had  done.  What  would  be  the  consequence  ?  By 
way  of  argument  he  said,  '  Suppose  Reissiger  died  on  his  jour- 
ney to  some  watering-place  —  his  wife  would  then  be  as  much 
justified  as  was  Frau  von  Weber  (who  had  annoyed  him  quite 
enough  already)  in  expecting  her  husband's  dead  body  to  be 
brought  home  with  music  and  pomp.'  I  tried  to  calm  him,  and 
if  I  did  not  succeed  in  making  him  see  the  difference  between 
Reissiger  and  Weber,  I  managed  to  make  him  understand  that 
the  affair  must  take  its  course,  as  the  Berlin  Court  Theatre 
had  already  announced  a  benefit  performance  to  support  our 
undertaking. 

Meyerbeer,  to  whom  my  committee  had  applied,  was  instru- 
mental in  bringing  this  about,  and  a  performance  of  Euryanthe 
was  actually  given  which  yielded  the  handsome  balance  of  six 
thousand  marks.  A  few  theatres  of  lesser  importance  now  fol- 
lowed our  lead.  The  Dresden  Court  Theatre,  therefore,  could 
not  hold  back  any  longer,  and  as  we  now  had  a  fairly  large 
sum  at  the  bank,  we  were  able  to  cover  the  expenses  of  the  re- 
moval, as  well  as  the  cost  of  an  appropriate  vault  and  monument ; 
we  even  had  a  nucleus  fund  for  a  statue  of  Weber,  which  we 
were  to  fight  for  later  on.  The  elder  of  the  two  sons  of  the 
immortal  master  travelled  to  London  to  fetch  the  remains  of 
his  father.  He  brought  them  by  boat  down  the  Elbe,  and  finally 
arrived  at  the  Dresden  landing-stage,  from  whence  they  were 
to  be  conducted  to  German  soil.  This  last  journey  of  the 
remains  was  to  take  place  at  night  A  solemn  torchlight  pro- 
cession was  to  be  formed,  and  I  had  undertaken  to  see  to  the 
funeral  music. 

I  arranged  this  from  two  motives  out  of  EuryantTie,  using 
that  part  of  the  music  in  the  overture  which  relates  to  the  vision 
of  spirits.  I  introduced  the  Cavatina  from  Euryanthe  —  Hier 
dicht  am  Quell  ('Here  near  the  source  '),  which  I  left  unaltered, 


360  MY   LIFE 

except  that  I  transposed  it  into  B  flat  major,  and  I  finished  the 
whole,  as  Weber  finished  his  opera,  by  a  return  to  the  first 
sublime  motive.  I  had  orchestrated  this  symphonic  piece,  which 
was  well  suited  to  the  purpose,  for  eight  chosen  wind  instru- 
ments, and  notwithstanding  the  volume  of  sound,  I  had  not 
forgotten  softness  and  delicacy  of  instrumentation.  I  substituted 
the  gruesome  tremolo  of  the  violas,  which  appears  in  that  part 
of  the  overture  adapted  by  me,  by  twenty  muffled  drums,  and 
as  a  whole  attained  to  such  an  exceedingly  impressive  effect, 
especially  to  us  who  were  full  of  thoughts  of  Weber,  that,  even 
in  the  theatre  where  we  rehearsed,  Schroder-Devrient,  who  was 
present,  and  who  had  been  an  intimate  friend  of  Weber's,  was 
deeply  moved.  I  had  never  carried  out  anything  more  in  keep- 
ing with  the  character  of  the  subject;  and  the  procession  through 
the  town  was  equally  impressive. 

As  the  very  slow  tempo,  devoid  of  any  strongly  marked 
accents,  offered  numerous  difficulties,  I  had  had  the  stage 
cleared  for  the  rehearsal,  in  order  to  command  a  sufficient 
space  for  the  musicians,  once  they  had  thoroughly  practised 
the  piece,  to  walk  round  me  in  a  circle  playing  all  the  while. 
Several  of  those  who  witnessed  the  procession  from  their  win- 
dows assured  me  that  the  effect  of  the  procession  was  indescrib- 
ably and  sublimely  solemn.  After  we  had  placed  the  coffin  in 
the  little  mortuary  chapel  of  the  Catholic  cemetery  in  Fried- 
richstadt,  where  Madame  Devrient  met  it  with  a  wreath  of 
flowers,  we  performed,  on  the  following  morning,  the  solemn 
ceremony  of  lowering  it  into  the  vault.  Herr  Hofrat  Schulz 
and  myself,  as  presidents  of  the  committee,  were  allowed  the 
honour  of  speaking  by  the  graveside,  and  what  afforded  me 
an  appropriate  subject  for  the  few,  somewhat  affecting,  words 
which  I  had  to  pronounce,  was  the  fact  that,  shortly  before 
the  removal  of  Weber's  remains,  the  second  son  of  the  mas- 
ter, Alexander  von  Weber,  had  died.  The  poor  mother  had 
been  so  terribly  affected  by  the  sudden  death  of  this  youth,  so 
full  of  life  and  health,  that  had  we  not  been  in  the  very 
midst  of  our  arrangements,  we  should  have  been  compelled  to 
abandon  them;  for  in  this  new  loss  the  widow  saw  a  judgment 
of  God  who,  in  her  opinion,  looked  upon  the  removal  of  the 
remains  as  an  act  of  sacrilege  prompted  by  vanity.  As  the 


361 

public  seemed  particularly  disposed  to  hold  the  same  view, 
it  fell  to  my  lot  to  set  the  nature  of  our  undertaking  in  the 
proper  light  before  the  eyes  of  the  world.  And  this  I  so  far 
succeeded  in  doing  that,  to  my  satisfaction,  I  learned  from  all 
sides  that  my  justification  of  our  action  had  received  the  most 
general  acceptance. 

On  this  occasion  I  had  a  strange  experience  with  regard  to 
myself,  when  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  had  to  deliver  a 
solemn  public  speech.  Since  then  I  have  always  spoken  ex- 
temporarily;  this  time,  however,  nn  it  ^ypi  my  firnfi  nppnnrmirn  £,"-' 
qp  an  orator.  I  had  written  out  my  speech,  and  carefully  learned 
it  by  heart.  As  I  was  thoroughly  under  the  influence  of  my 
subject,  I  felt  so  sure  of  my  memory  that  I  never  thought  of 
making  any  notes.  Thanks  to  this  omission,  however,  I  made 
my  brother  Albert  very  unhappy.  He  was  standing  near  me 
at  the  ceremony,  and  he  told  me  afterwards  that,  in  spite  of 
being  deeply  moved,  he  felt  at  one  moment  as  if  he  could 
have  sworn  at  me  for  not  having  asked  him  to  prompt  me. 
It  happened  in  this  way:  I  began  my  speech  in  a  clear  and 
full  voice,  but  suddenly  the  sound  of  my  own  words,  and  their 
particular  intonation,  affected  me  to  such  an  extent  that,  carried 
away  as  I  was  by  my  own  thoughts,  I  imagined  I  saw  as  well 
as  heard  myself  before  the  breathless  multitude.  While  I  thus 
appeared  objectively  to  myself  I  remained  in  a  sort  of  trance, 
during  which  I  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  something  to  happen, 
and  felt  quite  a  different  person  from  the  man  who  was  sup- 
posed to  be  standing  and  speaking  there.  __It  .was  neither 
nervousness  nor  absent-mindedness  ou  my  part;  only  at  the 
encl~~of  a  -certain  sentence  there  was  such  a  long  pause  that 
those  who  saw  me  standing  there  must  have  wondered  what 
on  earth  to  think  of  me.  At  last  my  own  silence  and  the 
stillness  round  me  reminded  me  that  I  was  not  there  to  listen, 
but  to  speak.  I  at  once  resumed  my  discourse,  and  I  spoke 
with  such  fluency  to  the  very  end  that  the  celebrated  actor, 
Emil  Devrient,  assured  me  that,  apart  from  the  solemn  service, 
he  had  been  deeply  impressed  simply  from  the  standpoint  <>f 


The  ceremony  concluded  with  a  poem  written  and  set  to 
music  by  myself,  and,  though  it  presented  many  difficulties 


362  MY    LIFE 

for  men's  voices,  it  was  splendidly  rendered  by  some  of  the  best 
opera  singers.  Liittichau,  who  was  present,  was  now  not  only 
convinced  of  the  justice  of  the  enterprise,  but  also  strongly 
in  favour  of  it.  I  was  deeply  thankful  that  everything  had 
succeeded  so  well,  and  when  Weber's  widow,  upon  whom  I 
called  after  the  ceremony,  told  me  how  profoundly  she,  too, 
had  been  moved,  the  only  cloud  that  still  darkened  my  horizon 
was  dispelled.  In  my  youth  I  had  learned  to  love  music  through 
my  admiration  for  Weber's  genius,  and  the  news  of  his  death 
was  a  terrible  blow  to  me.  To  have,  as  it  were,  come  into 
contact  with  him  again  and  after  so  many  years  by  this  second 
funeral,  was  an  event  that  stirred  the  very  depths  of  my 
being. 

From  all  the  particulars  I  have  given  concerning  my  intimacy 
with  the  great  masters  who  were  my  contemporaries,  it  is 
easy  to  see  at  what  sources  I  had  been  able  to  quench  my 
thirst  for  intellectual  intercourse.  It  was  not  a  very  satis- 
factory outlook  to  turn  from  Weber's  grave  to  his  living  suc- 
cessors; but  I  had  still  to  find  out  how  absolutely  hopeless 
this  was. 

I  spent  the  winter  of  1844-5  partly  in  yielding  to  attrac- 
tions from  outside,  and  partly  in  indulging  in  the  deepest 
meditation.  By  dint  of  great  energy,  and  by  getting  up  very 
"early,  even"  in  winter,  I  succeeded  in  completing  my  score  to 
Tanrihauser  early  in  April,  having,  as  already  stated,  finished 
the  composition  of  it  at  the  end  of  the  preceding  year.  In 
writing  down  the  orchestration  I  made  things  particularly 
difficult  for  myself  by  using  the  specially  prepared  paper  which 
the  printing  process  renders  necessary,  and  which  involved  me 
in  all  kinds  of  trying  formalities.  I  had  each  page  transferred 
to  the  stone  immediately,  and  a  hundred  copies  printed  from 
each,  hoping  to  make  use  of  these  proofs  for  the  rapid  circu- 
lation of  my  work.  Whether  my  hopes  were  to  be  fulfilled  or 
not,  I  was  at  all  events  fifteen  hundred  marks  out  of  pocket 
when  all  the  expenses  of  the  publication  were  paid. 

In  regard  to  this  work  which  called  for  so  many  sacrifices, 
and  which  was  so  slow  and  difficult,  more  details  will  appear 
in  my  autobiography.  At  all  events,  when  May  came  round  I 
was  in  possession  of  a  hundred  neatly  bound  copies  of  my  first 


THE   SCOKE    OF   TAKNTHAUSER  363 

new  work  since  the  production  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander,  and 
Hiller,  to  whom  I  showed  some  parts  of  it,  formed  a  tolerably 
good  impression  of  its  value. 

These  plans  for  rapidly  spreading  the  fame  of  my  Tannhduser 
were  made  with  the  hope  of  a  success  which,  in  view  of  my  needy 
circumstances,  seemed  ever  more  and  more  desirable.  In  the 
course  of  one  year  since  I  had  begun  my  own  publication  of  my 
operas,  much  had  been  done  to  this  end.  In  September  of  the 
year  1844  I  had  presented  the  King  of  Saxony  with  a  special 
richly  bound  copy  of  the  complete  pianoforte  arrangement  of 
Rienzi,  dedicated  to  his  Majesty.  The  Fliegender  Hollander 
had  also  been  finished,  and  the  pianoforte  arrangement  of  Rienzi 
for  duet,  as  well  as  some  songs  selected  from  both  operas,  had 
either  been  published  or  were  about  to  be  published.  Apart  from 
this  I  had  had  twenty-five  copies  made  of  the  scores  of  both  these 
operas  by  means  of  the  so-called  autographic  transfer  process, 
although  only  from  the  writing  of  the  copyists.  All  these  heavy 
expenses  made  it  absolutely  imperative  that  I  should  try  to  send 
my  scores  to  the  different  theatres,  and  induce  them  to  produce 
my  operas,  as  the  outlay  on  the  piano  scores  had  been  heavy,  and 
these  could  only  have  a  sale  if  my  works  got  to  be  known  suffi- 
ciently well  through  the  theatre. 

I  now  sent  the  score  of  my  Rienzi  to  the  more  important 
theatres,  but  they  all  returned  my  work  to  me,  the  Munich 
Court  Theatre  even  sending  it  back  unopened!  I  therefore 
knew  what  to  expect,  and  spared  myself  the  trouble  of  sending 
my  Dutchman.  From  a  speculative  business  point  of  view  the 
situation  was  this :  the  hoped-for  success  of  Tannhduser  would 
bring  in  its  wake  a  demand  for  my  earlier  works.  The  worthy 
Meser,  my  agent,  who  was  the  music  publisher  appointed  to  the 
court,  had  also  begun  to  feel  a  little  doubtful,  and  saw  that  this 
was  the  only  thing  to  do.  I  started  at  once  on  the  publication  of 
a  pianoforte  arrangement  of  Tannhduser,  preparing  it  myself 
while  Kockel  undertook  the  Fliegender  Hollander,  and  a  cer- 
tain Klink  did  Rienzi. 

The  only  thing  that  Meser  was  absolutely  opposed  to  was  the 
title  of  my  new  opera,  which  I  had  just  named  Der  Venusberg; 
he  maintained  that,  as  I  did  not  mix  with  the  public,  I  had  no 
idea  what  horrible  jokes  were  made  about  this  title.  He  said 


364  MY   LIFE 

the  students  and  professors  of  the  medical  school  in  Dresden 
would  be  the  first  to  make  fun  of  it,  as  they  had  a  predilection 
for  that  kind  of  obscene  joke.  I  was  sufficiently  disgusted  by 
these  details  to  consent  to  the  change.  To  the  name  of  my  hero, 
Tannhauser,  I  added  the  name  of  the  subject  of  the  legend 
which,  although  originally  not  belonging  to  the  Tannhauser 
myth,  was  thus  associated  with  it  by  me,  a  fact  which  later 
on  Simrock,  the  great  investigator  and  innovator  in  the  world 
of  legend,  whom  I  esteemed  so  highly,  took  very  much  amiss. 

Tannhauser  un  der  Sangerkrieg  auf  Wartburg  should  hence- 
forth be  its  title,  and  to  give  the  work  a  mediaeval  appearance  I 
had  the  words  specially  printed  in  Gothic  characters  upon  the 
piano  arrangement,  and  in  this  way  introduced  the  work  to  the 
public. 

The  extra  expenses  this  involved  were  very  heavy ;  but  I  went 
to  great  pains  to  impress  Meser  with  my  belief  in  the  success  of 
my  work.  So  deeply  were  we  involved  in  this  scheme,  and  so 
great  were  the  sacrifices  it  had  compelled  us  to  make,  that  there 
was  nothing  else  for  it  but  to  trust  to  a  special  turn  of  Fortune's 
wheel.  As  it  happened,  the  management  of  the  theatre  shared 
my  confidence  in  the  success  of  Tannhauser.  I  had  induced 
Liittichau  to  have  the  scenery  for  Tannhauser  painted  by  the  best 
painters  of  the  great  opera  house  in  Paris.  I  had  seen  their  work 
on  the  Dresden  stage :  it  belonged  to  the  style  of  German  scenic 
art  which  was  then  fashionable,  and  really  gave  the  effect  of 
first-class  work. 

The  order  for  this,  as  well  as  the  necessary  negotiations  with 
the  Parisian  painter,  Desplechin,  had  already  been  settled  in  the 
preceding  autumn.  The  management  agreed  to  all  my  wishes, 
even  to  the  ordering  of  beautiful  costumes  of  mediaeval  character 
designed  by  my  friend  Heine.  The  only  thing  Liittichau  con- 
stantly postponed  was  the  order  for  the  Hall  of  Song  on  the 
Wartburg;  he  maintained  that  the  Hall  for  Kaiser  Karl  the 
Great  in  Oberon,  which  had  only  recently  been  delivered  by  some 
French  painters,  would  answer  the  purpose  just  as  well.  With 
superhuman  efforts  I  had  to  convince  my  chief  that  we  did  not 
want  a  brilliant  throne-room,  but  a  scenic  picture  of  a  certain 
character  such  as  I  saw  before  my  mind's  eye,  and  that  it  could 
be  painted  only  according  to  my  directions.  As  in  the  end  I 


LOHENGRIN  365 

became  very  irritable  and  cross,  lie  soothed  me  by  saying  that  he 
had  no  objection  to  having  this  scene  painted,  and  that  he 
would  order  it  to  be  commenced  at  once,  adding  that  he  had 
not  agreed  immediately,  only  with  the  view  of  making  my  joy 
the  greater,  because,  what  one  obtained  without  difficulty,  one 
rarely  appreciated.  This  Hall  of  Song  was  fated  to  cause  me 
great  trouble  later  on. 

Thus   everything  was   in  full   swing;    circumstances   were 
favourable,  and  seemed  to  cast  a  hopeful  light  upon  the  pro- 
duction  of  my  new  work   at   the  beginning   of   the   autumn 
season.    Even  the  public  was  looking  forward  to  it,  and  for  the  j 
first  time  I  saw  my  name  mentioned  in  a  friendly  manner  in  a  l 
communication  to  the  Allgemeine  Zeitung.    They  actually  spoke 
of  the  great  expectations  they  had  of  my  new  work,  the  poem  of 
which  had  been  written  (  with  undoubted  poetic  feeling.' 

Full  of  hope,  I  started  in  July  on  my  holiday,  which  con- 
sisted of  a  journey  to  Marienbad  in  Bohemia,  where  my  wife 
and  I  intended  to  take  the  cure.  Again  I  found  myself  on  the 
'volcanic  '  soil  of  this  extraordinary  country,  Bohemia,  which 
always  had  such  an  inspiring  effect  on  me.  It  was  a  marvel- 
lous summer,  almost  too  hot,  and  I  was  therefore  in  high 
spirits.  I  had  intended  to  follow  the  easy-going  mode  of  life 
which  is  a  necessary  part  of  this  somewhat  trying  treatment, 
and  had  selected  my  books  with  care,  taking  with  me  the  poems 
of  Wolfram  von  Eschenbach,  edited  by  Simrock  and  San 
Marte,  as  well  as  the  anonymous  epic  Lohengrin,  with  its 
lengthy  introduction  by  Gb'rres.  With  my  book  under  my 
arm  I  hid  myself  in  the  neighbouring  woods,  and  pitching  my 
tent  by  the  brook  in  company  with  Titurel  and  Parcival,  I 
lost  myself  in  Wolfram's  strange,  yet  irresistibly  charming, 
poem.  Soon,  however,  a  longing  seized  me  to  give  expression 
to  the  inspiration  generated  by  this  poem,  so  that  I  had  the 
greatest  difficulty  in  overcoming  my  desire  to  give  up  the  rest 
I  had  been  prescribed  while  partaking  of  the  water  of 
Marienbad. 

The  result  was  an  ever-increasing  state  of  excitement,  j 
Lohengrin,  the  first  conception  of  which  dates  from  the  end  of  I 
my  time  in  Paris,  stood  suddenly  revealed  before  me,  com-  i 
plete  in  every  detail  of  its  dramatic  construction.  The  legend 


366  MY   LIFE 

of  the  swan  which  forms  such  an  important  feature  of  all  the 
many  versions  of  this  series  of  myths  that  my  studies  had 
brought  to  my  notice,  exercised  a  singular  fascination  over  my 
imagination. 

\  Remembering  the  doctor's  advice,  I  struggled  bravely  against 
the  temptation  of  writing  down  my  ideas,  and  resorted  to  the 
most  strange  and  energetic  methods.  Owing  to  some  com- 
ments I  had  read  in  Gervinus's  History  of  German  Literature, 
both  the  Meistersinger  von  Nurnberg  and  Hans  Sachs  hud 
acquired  quite  a  vital  charm  for  me.  The  Marker  alone, 
and  the  part  he  takes  in  the  Master-singing,  were  particularly 
pleasing  to  me,  and  on  one  of  my  lonely  walks,  without  knowing 
anything  particular  about  Hans  Sachs  and  his  poetic  contem- 
poraries, I  thought  out  a  humorous  scene,  in  which  the  cobbler 
—  as  a  popular  artisan-poet — with  the  hammer  on  his  last, 
gives  the  Marker  a  practical  lesson  by  making  him  sing,  thereby 
taking  revenge  on  him  for  his  conventional  misdeeds.  To  me 
the  force  of  the  whole  scene  was  concentrated  in  the  two  fol- 
lowing points:  on  the  one  hand  the  Marker,  with  his  slate 
covered  with  chalk-marks,  and  on  the  other  Hans  Sachs  holding 
up  the  shoes  covered  with  his  chalk-marks,  each  intimating  to 
the  other  that  the  singing  had  been  a  failure.  To  this  picture, 
by  way  of  concluding  the  second  act,  I  added  a  scene  con- 
sisting of  a  narrow,  crooked  little  street  in  Nuremberg,  with 
the  people  all  running  about  in  great  excitement,  and  ultimately 
engaging  in  a  street  brawl.  Thus,  suddenly,  the  whole  of  my 
Meistersinger  comedy  took  shape  so  vividly  before  me,  that, 
inasmuch  as  it  was  a  particularly  cheerful  subject,  and  not  in 
the  least  likely  to  over-excite  my  nerves,  I  felt  I  inust  write  it 
out  in  spite  of  the  doctor's  orders.  I  therefore  proceeded  to 
do  this,  and  hoped  it  might  free  me  from  the  thrall  of  the  idea 
of  Lohengrin;  but  I  was  mistaken;  for  no  sooner  had  I  got 
into  my  bath  at  noon,  than  I  felt  an  overpoweri»g-4eftire_tp_. 
wrjte  out  Itohcngrm,  and  this  longing  so  overcame  me  that  I 
could  not  wait  the  prescribed  hour  for  the  bath,  but  when  a 
few  minutes  elapsed,  jumped  out  and,  barely  giving  myself  time 
to  dress,  ran  home  to  write  out  what  I  had  in  my  mind.  I 
repeated  this  for  several  days  until  the  complete  sketch  of 
Lohengrin  was  on  paper. 


TANKEAUSER  REHEARSED 


367 


The  doctor  then  told  me  I  had  better  give  up  taking  the 
waters  and  baths,  saying  emphatically  that  I  was  quite  unfit 
for  such  cures.  My  excitement  had  grown  to  such  an  extent 
that  even  my  efforts  to  sleep  as  a  rule  ended  only  in  nocturnal 
adventures.  Among  some  interesting  excursions  that  we  made 
at  this  time,  one  to  Eger  fascinated  me  particularly,  on  account 
of  its  association  with  Wallenstein  and  of  the  peculiar  costumes 
of  the  inhabitants. 

]n  mid- August  we  travelled  back  to  Dresden,  where  my 
friends  were  glad  to  see  me  in  such  good  spirits ;  as  for  myself, 
I  felt  as  if  I  had  wings.  In  September,  when  all  our  singers 
had  returned  from  their  summer  holidays,  I  resumed  the 
rehearsals  of  Tannhduser  with  great  earnestness.  We  had 
now  got  so  far,  at  least  with  the  musical  part  of  the  perform- 
ance, that  the  possible  date  of  the  production  seemed  quite 
close  at  hand.  Schroder-Devrient  was  one  of  the  first  to  realise 
the  extraordinary  difficulties  which  the  production  of  Tannhduser 
would  entail.  And,  indeed,  she  saw  these  difficulties  so  clearly 
that,  to  my  great  discomfiture,  she  was  able  to  lay  them  all 
before  me.  Once,  when  I  called  upon  her,  she  read  the 
principal  passages  aloud  with  great  feeling  and  force,  and 
then  she  asked  me  how  I  could  have  been  so  simple-minded 
as  to  have  thought  that  so  childish  a  creature  as  Tichatschek 
would  be  able  to  find  the  proper  tones  for  Tannhauser.  I 
tried  to  bring  her  attention  and  my  own  to  bear  upon  the 
nature  of  the  music,  which  was  written  so  clearly  in  order 
to  bring  out  the  necessary  accent,  that,  in  my  opinion,  the 
music  actually  spoke  for  him  who  interpreted  the  passage,  even 
if  he  were  only  a  musical  singer  and  nothing  more.  She  shook 
her  head,  saying  that  this  would  be  all  right  in  the  case  of  an 
oratorio. 

She  now  sang  Elizabeth's  prayer  from  the  piano  score,  and 
asked  me  if  I  really  thought  that  this  music  would  answer  my 
intentions  if  sung  by  a  young  and  pretty  voice  without  any 
soul  or- without  that  experience  of  life  which  alone  could  give 
the  real  expression  to  the  interpretation.  I  sighed  and  said 
that,  in  that  case,  the  youthfulness  of  the  voice  and  of  its 
owner  must  make  up  for  what  was  lacking:  at  the  same  time, 
I  asked  her  as  a  favour  to  see  what  she  could  do  towards 


368  MY   LIFE 

making  my  niece,  Johanna,  understand  her  part.  All  this, 
however,  did  not  solve  the  Tannhauser  problem,  for  any 
effort  at  teaching  Tichatschek  would  only  have  resulted  in 
confusion.  I  was  therefore  obliged  to  rely  entirely  upon  the 
energy  of  his  voice,  and  on  the  singer's  peculiarly  sharp  '  speak- 
ing' tone. 

Devrient's  anxiety  about  the  principal  parts  arose  partly 
out  of  concern  about  her  own.  She  did  not  know  what  to  do 
with  the  part  of  Venus ;  she  had  undertaken  it  for  the  sake  of 
the  success  of  the  performance,  for  although  a  small  part,  so 
much  depended  upon  its  being  ideally  interpreted!  Later  on, 
when  the  work  was  given  in  Paris,  I  became  convinced  that 
this  part  had  been  written  in  too  sketchy  a  style,  and  this 
induced  me  to  reconstruct  it  by  making  extensive  additions, 
and  by  supplying  all  that  which  I  felt  it  lacked.  For  the 
moment,  however,  it  looked  as  if  no  art  on  the  part  of  the 
singer  could  give  to  this  sketch  anything  of  what  it  ought  to 
represent.  The  only  thing  that  might  have  helped  towards 
a  satisfactory  impersonation  of  Venus  would  have  been  the 
artist's  confidence  in  her  own  great  physical  attraction,  and  in 
the  effect  it  would  help  to  produce  by  appealing  to  the  purely 
material  sympathies  of  the  public.  The  certainty  that  these 
means  were  no  longer  at  her  disposal  paralysed  this  great 
singer,  who  could  hide  her  age  and  matronly  appearance  no 
longer.  She  therefore  became  self-conscious,  and  unable  to  use 
even  the  usual  means  for  gaining  an  effect.  On  one  occasion, 
with  a  little  smile  of  despair,  she  expressed  herself  incapable  of 
playing  Venus,  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  she  could  not 
appear  dressed  like  the  goddess.  '  What  on  earth  am  I  to  wear 
as  Venus  ? '  she  exclaimed.  '  After  all,  I  cannot  be  clad  in 
a  belt  alone.  A  nice  figure  of  fun  I  should  look,  and  you  would 
laugh  on  the  wrong  side  of  your  face ! ' 

On  the  whole,  I  still  built  my  hopes  upon  the  general  effect 
of  the  music  alone,  the  great  promise  of  which  at  the  rehearsals 
greatly  encouraged  me.  Hiller,  who  had  looked  through  the 
score  and  had  already  praised  it,  assured  me  that  the  instru- 
mentation could  not  have  been  carried  out  with  greater 
sobriety.  The  characteristic  and  delicate  sonority  of  the 
orchestra  delighted  me,  and  strengthened  me  in  my  resolve 


THE   MEANING   OF   THE    SANGERKRIEG     369 

to  be  extremely  sparing  in  the  use  of  my  orchestral  material, 
in  order  to  attain  that  abundance  of  combinations  which  I 
needed  for  my  later  works. 

At  the  rehearsal  my  wife  alone  missed  the  trumpets  and 
trombones  that  gave  such  brightness  and  freshness  to  Rienzi. 
Although  I  laughed  at  this,  I  could  not  help  feeling  anxious 
when  she  confided  to  me  how  great  had  been  her  disappoint- 
ment when,  at  the  theatre  rehearsal,  she  noticed  the  really  feeble 
impression  made  by  the  music  of  the  Sdngerkrieg.  Speaking 
from  the  point  of  view  of  the  public,  who  always  want  to  be 
amused  or  stirred  in  some  way  or  other,  she  had  thus  very 
rightly  called  attention  to  an  exceedingly  questionable  side  of 
the  performance.  But  I  saw  at  once  that  the  fault  lay  less 
with  the  conception  than  with  the  fact  that  I  had  not  controlled 
the  production  with  sufficient  care. 

In  regard  to  the  conception  of  this  scene  I  was  literally  on 
the  horns  of  a  dilemma,  for  I  had  to  decide  once  for  all  whether 
this  Sdngerkrieg  wras  to  be  a  concert  of  arias  or  a  competition 
in  dramatic  poetry.  There  are  many  people  even  nowadays, 
who,  in  spite  of  having  witnessed  a  perfectly  successful  pro- 
duction of  this  scene,  have  not  received  the  right  impression 
of  its  purport.  Their  idea  is  that  it  belongs  to  the  traditional 
operatic  'genre,'  which  demands  that  a  number  of  vocal  evolu- 
tions shall  be  juxtaposed  or  contrasted,  and  that  these  different 
songs  are  intended  to  amuse  and  interest  the  audience  by 
means  of  their  purely  musical  changes  in  rhythm  and  time  on 
the  principle  of  a  concert  programme,  i.e.  by  various  items 
of  different  styles.  This  was  not  at  all  my  idea:  my  real  in- 
tention was,  if  possible,  to  force  the  listener,  for  the  first  time 
in  the  history  of  opera,  to  take  an  interest  in  a  poetical  idea, 
by  making  him  follow  all  its  necessary  developments.  For  it 
was  only  by  virtue  of  this  interest  that  he  could  be  made  to 
understand  the  catastrophe,  which  in  this  instance  was  not  to 
be  brought  about  by  any  outside  influence,  but  must  be  the 
outcome  simply  of  the  natural  spiritual  processes  at  work. 
Hence  the  need  of  great  moderation  and  breadth  in  the  con- 
ception of  the  music;  first,  in  order  that  according  to  my 
principle  it  might  prove  helpful  rather  than  the  reverse  to  the 
understanding  of  the  poetical  lines,  and  secondly,  in  order 


370  MY   LIFE 

that  the  increasing  rhythmic  character  of  the  melody  which 
marks  the  ardent  growth  of  passion  may  not  be  interrupted 
too  arbitrarily  by  unnecessary  changes  in  modulation  and 
rhythm.  Hence,  too,  the  need  of  a  very  sparing  use  of  orches- 
tral instruments  for  the  accompaniment,  and  an  intentional 
suppression  of  all  those  purely  musical  effects  which  must  be 
utilised,  and  that  gradually,  only  when  the  situation  becomes 
so  intense  that  one  almost  ceases  to  think,  and  can  only  feel 
the  tragic  nature  of  the  crisis.  No  one  could  deny  that  I  had 
contrived  to  produce  the  proper  effect  of  this  principle  the 
moment  I  played  the  SdngerJcrieg  on  the  piano.  With  the  view 
of  ensuring  all  my  future  successes,  I  was  now  confronted 
with  the  exceptional  difficulty  of  making  the  opera  singers  under- 
stand how  to  interpret  their  parts  precisely  in  the  way  I  de- 
sired. I  remembered  how,  through  lack  of  experience,  I  had 
neglected  properly  to  superintend  the  production  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander,  and  as  I  now  fully  realised  all  the  disas- 
trous consequences  of  this  neglect,  I  began  to  think  of  means 
by  which  I  could  teach  the  singers  my  own  interpretation.  I 
have  already  stated  that  it  was  impossible  to  influence  Tichat- 
schek,  for  if  he  were  made  to  do  things  he  could  not  understand, 
he  only  became  nervous  and  confused.  He  was  conscious  of  his 
advantages.  He  knew  that  with  his  metallic  voice  he  could 
sing  with  great  musical  rhythm  and  accuracy,  while  his 
delivery  was  simply  perfect.  But,  to  my  great  astonishment, 
I  was  soon  to  learn  that  all  this  did  not  by  any  means  suffice; 
for,  to  my  horror,  at  the  first  performance,  that  which  had 
strangely  escaped  my  notice  in  the  rehearsals  became  suddenly 
apparent  to  me.  At  the  close  of  the  Sdngerkrieg,  when  Tann- 
hauser  (in  frantic  excitement,  and  forgetful  of  everybody 
present)  has  to  sing  his  praise  to  Venus,  and  I  saw 
Tichatschek  moving  towards  Elizabeth  and  addressing  his 
passionate  outburst  to  her,  I  thought  of  Schroder-Devrient's 
warning  in  very  much  the  same  way  as  Cro3sus  must  have 
thought  when  he  cried,  l  O  Solon !  Solon ! '  at  the  funeral 
pyre.  In  spite  of  the  musical  excellence  of  Tichatschek,  the 
enormous  life  and  melodic  charm  of  the  Sdngerkrieg  failed 
entirely. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  succeeded  in  calling  into  life  an  entirely 


MITTERWURZER   AS    ' WOLFRAM'  371 

new  element  such  as  probably  had  never  been  seen  in  opera! 
I  had  watched  the  young  baritone  Mitterwurzer  with  great 
interest  in  some  of  his  parts  —  he  was  a  strangely  reticent  man, 
and  not  at  all  sociably  inclined,  and  I  had  noticed  that  his 
delightfully  mellow  voice  possessed  the  rare  quality  of  bringing 
out  the  inner  note  of  the  soul.  To  him  I  entrusted  Wolfram, 
and  I  had  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with  his  zeal  and  with 
the  success  of  his  studies.  Therefore,  if  I  wished  my  intention 
and  method  to  become  known,  especially  in  regard  to  this 
difficult  Sangerkrieg,  I  had  to  rely  on  him  for  the  proper  exe- 
cution of  my  plans  and  everything  they  involved.  I  began  by 
going  through  the  opening  song  of  this  scene  with  him;  but, 
after  I  had  done  my  utmost  to  make  him  understand  how  I 
wanted  it  done,  I  was  surprised  to  find  how  very  difficult  this 
particular  rendering  of  the  music  appeared  to  him.  He  was 
absolutely  incapable  of  repeating  it  after  me,  and  with  each 
renewed  effort  his  singing  became  so  commonplace  and  so 
mechanical  that  I  realised  clearly  that  he  had  not  understood 
this  piece  to  be  anything  more  than  a  phrase  in  recitative 
form,  which  he  might  render  with  any  inflections  of  the  voice 
that  happened  to  be  prescribed,  or  which  might  be  sung  either 
this  way  or  that,  according  to  fancy,  as  was  usual  in  operatic 
pieces.  He,  too,  was  astonished  at  his  own  want  of  capacity, 
but  was  so  struck  by  the  novelty  and  the  justice  of  my  views, 
that  he  begged  me  not  to  try  any  more  for  the  present,  but  to 
leave  him  to  find  out  for  himself  how  best  to  become  familiar 
with  this  newly  revealed  world.  During  several  rehearsals 
he  only  sang  in  a  whisper  in  order  to  get  over  the  difficulty, 
but  at  the  last  rehearsal  he  acquitted  himself  so  admirably 
of  his  task,  and  threw  himself  into  it  so  heartily,  that  his  work 
has  remained  to  this  day  as  my  most  conclusive  reason  for 
believing  that,  in  spite  of  the  unsatisfactory  state  of  the  world 
of  opera  to-day,  it  is  possible  not  only  to  find,  but  also  properly 
to  train,  the  singer  whom  I  should  regard  as  indispensable 
for  a  correct  interpretation  of  my  works.  It  was  through  the 
impression  made  by  Mitterwurzer  that  I  ultimately  succeeded 
in  making  the  public  understand  the  whole  of  my  work.  This 
man,  who  had  utterly  changed  himself  in  bearing,  look,  and 
appearance  in  order  to  fit  himself  to  the  role  of  Wolfram,  had, 


372  MY   LIFE 

in  thus  solving  the  problem,  not  only  become  a  thorough  ar- 
tist, but  by  his  interpretation  of  his  part  had  also  proved 
himself  my  saviour  at  the  very  moment  when  my  work  was 
threatening  to  fail  through  the  unsatisfactory  result  of  the 
first  performance. 

By  his  side  the  part  of  Elizabeth  made  a  sweet  impression. 
The  youthful  appearance  of  my  niece,  her  tall  and  slender 
form,  the  decidedly  German  cast  of  her  features,  as  well  as  the 
incomparable  beauty  of  her  voice,  with  its  expression  of  almost 
childlike  innocence,  helped  her  to  gain  the  hearts  of  the  audi- 
ence, even  though  her  talent  was  more  theatrical  than  dra- 
matic. She  soon  rose  to  fame  by  her  impersonation  of  this 
part,  and  often  in  later  years,  when  speaking  about  Tannliduser 
performances  in  which  she  had  appeared,  people  used  to  tell 
me  that  its  success  had  been  entirely  due  to  her.  Strange  to 
say,  in  such  reports  people  referred  principally  to  the  charm 
of  her  acting  at  the  moment  when  she  received  the  guests  in 
the  Wartburg  Hall;  and  I  used  to  account  for  this  by  remem- 
bering the  untiring  efforts  with  which  my  talented  brother  and 
I  had  trained  her  to  perform  this  very  part.  And  yet  it  was 
never  possible  to  make  her  understand  the  proper  interpreta- 
tion of  the  prayer  in  the  third  act,  and  I  felt  inclined  to  say, 
1  O  Solon !  Solon ! '  as  I  had  done  in  the  case  of  Tichatschek, 
when  after  the  first  performance  I  was  obliged  to  make  a 
considerable  cut  in  this  solo,  a  proceeding  which  greatly  re- 
duced its  importance  for  ever  afterwards.  I  heard  later  that 
Johanna,  who  for  a  short  period  actually  had  the  reputa- 
tion of  being  a  great  singer,  had  never  succeeded  in  singing 
the  prayer  as  it  ought  to  be  sung,  whereas  a  French  singer, 
Mademoiselle  Marie  Sax,  achieved  this  in  Paris  to  my  entire 
satisfaction. 

In  the  beginning  of  October  we  had  so  far  progressed  with 
our  rehearsals  that  nothing  stood  in  the  way  of  an  immediate 
production  of  Tannhduser  save  the  scenery,  which  was  not  yet 
complete.  A  few  only  of  the  scenes  ordered  from  Paris  had 
arrived,  and  even  these  had  come  very  late.  The  Wartburg 
Valley  was  beautifully  effective  and  perfect  in  every  detail. 
The  inner  part  of  the  Venusberg,  however,  gave  me  much 
anxiety:  the  painter  had  not  understood  me;  he  had 


painted  clusters  of  trees  and  statues,  which  reminded  one  of 
Versailles,  and  had  placed  them  in  a  wild  cave;  he  had  evi-  CX* 
dently  not  known  how  to  combine  the  weird  with  thg  alluring. 
I  had  to  insist  on  extensive  alterations,  and  chiefly  on  the  paint- 
ing out  of  the  shrubs  and  statues,  all  of  which  required  time. 
The  grotto  had  to  lie  half  hidden  in  a  rosy  cloud,  through  which 
the  Wartburg  Valley  had  to  loom  in  the  distance;  this  was  to 
be  done  in  strict  obedience  to  my  own  ideas. 

The  greatest  misfortune,  however,  was  to  befall  me  in  the 
shape  of  the  tardy  delivery  of  the  scenery  for  the  Hall  of  Song. 
This  was  due  to  great  negligence  on  the  part  of  the  Paris 
artists;  and  we  waited  and  waited  until  every  detail  of  the 
opera  had  been  studied  and  studied  again  ad  nauseam.  Daily 
I  went  to  the  railway  station  and  examined  all  the  packages 
and  boxes  that  had  arrived,  but  there  was  no  Hall  of  Song. 
At  last  I  allowed  myself  to  be  persuaded  not  to  postpone  the 
first  performance  any  longer,  and  I  decided  to  use  the  Hall  of 
Karl  the  Great  out  of  Oberon,  originally  suggested  to  me  by 
Liittichau,  instead  of  the  real  thing.  Considering  the  impor- 
tance I  attached  to  practical  effect,  this  entailed  a  great  sacrifice 
of  my  personal  feelings.  And  true  enough,  when  the  curtain 
rose  for  the  second  act,  the  reappearance  of  this  throne-room, 
which  the  public  had  seen  so  often,  added  considerably  to  the 
general  disappointment  of  the  audience,  who  had  anticipated 
astonishing  surprises  in  this  opera. 

On  the  19th  of  October  the  first  performance  took  place.  y^^T 
In  the  morning  of  that  day  a  very  beautiful  young  lady  was 
introduced  to  me  by  the  leader  Lipinsky.  Her  name  was  Mme. 
Kalergis,  and  she  was  a  niece  of  the  Russian  Chancellor,  Count 
von  Nesselrode.  Liszt  had  spoken  to  her  about  me  with  such 
enthusiasm  that  she  had  travelled  all  the  way  to  Dresden  es- 
pecially to  hear  the  first  production  of  my  new  work.  I  thought 
I  was  right  in  regarding  this  flattering  visit  as  a  good  omen. 
But  although  on  this  occasion  she  turned  away  from  me,  some- 
what perplexed  and  disappointed  by  the  very  unintelligible 
performance  and  the  somewhat  doubtful  reception  with  which 
it  met,  I  had  sufficient  cause  in  after-years  to  know  how  deeply 
this  remarkable  and  energetic  woman  had  nevertheless  been 
impressed. 


374  MY   LIFE 

A  great  contrast  to  this  visit  was  one  I  received  from  a 
peculiar  man  called  C.  Gaillard.  He  was  the  editor  of  a  Berlin 
musical  paper,  which  had  only  just  started,  and  in  which  I 
had  read  with  great  astonishment  an  entirely  favourable  and 
important  criticism  of  my  Fliegender  Hollander.  Although 
necessity  had  compelled  me  to  remain  indifferent  to  the  atti- 
tude of  the  critics,  yet  this  particular  notice  gave  me  much 
pleasure,  and  I  had  invited  my  unknown  critic  to  come  and 
hear  the  first  production  of  Tannhduser  in  Dresden. 

This  he  did,  and  I  was  deeply  touched  to  find  that  I  had  to 
deal  with  a  young  man  who,  in  spite  of  being  threatened  by 
consumption,  and  being  also  exceedingly  badly  off,  had  come 
at  my  invitation,  simply  from  a  sense  of  duty  and  honour,  and 
not  with  any  mercenary  motive.  I  saw  from  his  knowledge 
and  capacities  that  he  would  never  be  able  to  attain  a 
position  of  great  influence,  but  his  kindness  of  heart  and  his 
extraordinarily  receptive  mind  filled  me  with  a  feeling  of  pro- 
found respect  for  him.  A  few  years  later  I  was  very  sorry  to 
hear  that  he  had  at  last  succumbed  to  the  terrible  disease  from 
which  I  knew  him  to  be  suffering;  for  to  the  very  end  he 
remained  faithful  and  devoted  to  me,  in  spite  of  the  most  trying 
circumstances. 

Meanwhile  I  had  renewed  my  acquaintance  with  the  friend 
I  had  won  through  the  production  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander 
in  Berlin,  and  who  for  a  long  time  I  had  never  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  knowing  more  thoroughly.  The  second  time  I  met 
her  was  at  Schroder-Devrient's,  with  whom  she  was  already 
on  friendly  terms,  and  of  whom  she  used  to  speak  as  '  one  of 
my  greatest  conquests.' 

She  was  already  past  her  first  youth,  and  had  no  beauty  of 
feature  except  remarkably  penetrating  and  expressive  eyes  that 
showed  the  greatness  of  soul  with  which  she  was  gifted.  She 
was  the  sister  of  Froinmann,  the  bookseller  of  Jena,  and  could 
relate  many  intimate  facts  about  Goethe,  who  had  stayed  at 
her  brother's  house  when  he  was  in  that  town.  She  had  held 
the  position  of  reader  and  companion  to  the  Princess  Augusta 
of  Prussia,  and  had  thus  become  intimately  acquainted  with 
her,  and  was  regarded  by  her  own  association  as  almost  a 
bosom  friend  and  confidante  of  that  great  lady.  Nevertheless, 


ANALYSIS    OF    THE    PRODUCTION          375 

she  lived  in  extreme  poverty,  and  seemed  proud  of  being  able, 
by  means  of  her  talent  as  a  painter  of  arabesques,  to  secure 
for  herself  some  sort  of  independence.  She  always  remained 
faithfully  devoted  to  me,  as  she  was  one  of  the  few  who  were 
uninfluenced  by  the  unfavourable  impression  produced  by  the 
first  performance  of  Tannhauser,  and  promptly  expressed  her 
appreciation  of  my  latest  work  with  the  greatest  enthusiasm. 

With  regard  to  the  production  itself  the  conclusions  I  drew 
from  it  were  as  follows:  the  real  faults  in  the  work,  which  I 
have  already  mentioned  incidentally,  lay  in  the  sketchy  and 
clumsy  portrayal  of  the  part  of  Venus,  and  consequently  of  the 
whole  of  the  introductory  scene  of  the  first  act.  In  consequence 
of  this  defect  the  drama  never  even  rose  to  the  level  of  genuine 
warmth,  still  less  did  it  attain  to  the  heights  of  passion  which, 
according  to  the  poetic  conception  of  the  part,  should  so 
strongly  work  upon  the  feelings  of  the  audience  as  to  prepare 
them  for  the  inevitable  catastrophe  in  which  the  scene  culmi- 
nates, and  thus  lead  up  to  the  tragic  denouement.  This  great 
scene  was  a  complete  failure,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  it  was 
entrusted  to  so  great  an  actress  as  Schroder-Devrient,  and  a 
singer  so  unusually  gifted  as  Tichatschek.  The  genius  of 
Devrient  might  yet  have  struck  the  right  note  of  passion  in 
the  scene  had  she  not  chanced  to  be  acting  with  a  singer 
incapable  of  all  dramatic  seriousness,  and  whose  natural  gifts 
only  fitted  him  for  joyous  or  declamatory  accents,  and  who 
was  totally  incapable  of  expressing  pain  and  suffering.  It 
was  not  until  Wolfram's  touching  song  and  the  closing  scene 
of  this  act  were  reached  that  the  audience  showed  any  signs  of 
emotion.  Tichatschek  wrought  such  a  tremendous  effect  in 
the  concluding  phrase  by  the  jubilant  music  of  his  voice  that, 
as  I  was  afterwards  informed,  the  end  of  this  first  act  left  the 
audience  in  a  great  state  of  enthusiasm.  This  was  maintained, 
and  even  exceeded  in  the  second  act,  during  which  Elizabeth 
and  Wolfram  made  a  very  sympathetic  impression.  It  was 
only  the  hero  of  Tannhauser  who  continued  to  lose  ground, 
and  at  last  so  completely  failed  to  hold  the  audience  that  in 
the  final  scene  he  almost  broke  down  himself  in  dejection,  as 
though  the  failure  of  Tannhauser  were  his  own.  The  fatal 
defect  of  his  performance  lay  in  his  inability  to  find  the 


376  MY  LIFE 

right  expression,  for  the  theme  of  the  great  Adagio  passage 
of  the  finale  beginning  with  the  words :  '  To  lead  the  sinner  to 
salvation,  the  Heaven-sent  messenger  drew  near.'  The  im- 
portance of  this  passage  I  have  explained  at  length  in  my 
subsequent  instructions  for  the  production  of  Tannhauser. 
Indeed,  owing  to  Tichatschek's  absolutely  expressionless  ren- 
dering, which  made  it  seem  terribly  long  and  tedious,  I  had  to 
omit  it  entirely  from  the  second  performance.  As  I  did  not 
wish  to  offend  so  devoted  and,  in  his  way,  so  deserving  a  man 
as  Tichatschek,  I  let  it  be  understood  I  had  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  this  theme  was  a  failure.  Moreover,  as  Tichatschek 
was  thought  to  be  an  actor  chosen  by  myself  to  take  the  parts 
of  the  heroes  in  my  works,  this  passage,  which  was  so  im- 
measurably vital  to  the  opera,  continued  to  be  omitted  in  all 
the  subsequent  productions  of  Tannhauser,  as  though  this 
proceeding  had  been  approved  and  demanded  by  me.  I  there- 
fore cherished  no  illusions  about  the  value  of  the  subsequent 
universal  success  of  this  opera  on  the  German  stage.  My  hero, 
who,  in  rapture  as  in  woe,  should  always  have  asserted  his 
feelings  with  boundless  energy,  slunk  away  at  the  end  of  the 
second  act  with  the  humble  bearing  of  a  penitent  sinner,  only 
to  reappear  in  the  third  with  a  demeanour  designed  to  awaken 
the  charitable  sympathy  of  the  audience.  His  pronunciation 
of  the  Pope's  excommunication,  however,  was  rendered  with 
his  usual  full  rhetorical  power,  and  it  was  refreshing  to 
hear  his  voice  dominating  the  accompanying  trombones. 
Granted  that  this  radical  defect  in  the  hero's  acting  had  left 
the  public  in  a  doubtful  and  unsatisfied  state  of  suspense  re- 
garding the  meaning  of  the  whole,  yet  the  mistake  in  the 
execution  of  the  final  scene,  arising  from  my  own  inexperience 
in  this  new  field  of  dramatic  creation,  undoubtedly  contributed 
to  produce  a  chilling  uncertainty  as  to  the  true  significance 
of  the  scenic  action.  In  my  first  complete  version  I  had  made 
Venus,  on  the  occasion  of  her  second  attempt  to  recall  her 
faithless  lover,  appear  in  a  vision  to  Tannhauser  when  he  is 
in  a  frenzy  of  madness,  and  the  awfulness  of  the  situation 
is  merely  suggested  by  a  faint  roseate  glow  upon  the  distant 
Horselberg.  Even  the  definite  announcement  of  Elizabeth's 
death  was  a  sudden  inspiration  on  the  part  of  Wolfram.  This 


A   DOUBTFUL    SUCCESS  3Y7 

idea  I  intended  to  convey  to  the  listening  audience  solely 
by  the  sound  of  bells  tolling  in  the  distance,  and  by  a  faint 
gleam  of  torches  to  attract  their  eyes  to  the  remote  Wartburg. 
Moreover,  there  was  a  lack  of  precision  and  clearness  in  the 
appearance  of  the  chorus  of  young  pilgrims,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  announce  the  miracle  by  their  song  alone.  At  that  time  I 
had  given  them  no  budding  staves  to  carry,  and  had  unfortu- 
nately spoiled  their  refrain  by  a  tedious  and  unbroken  monotony 
of  accompaniment. 

When  at  last  the  curtain  fell,  I  was  under  the  impression, 
not  so  much  from  the  behaviour  of  the  audience,  which  was 
friendly,  as  from  my  own  inward  conviction,  that  the  failure 
of  this  work  was  to  be  attributed  to  the  immature  and  unsuit- 
able material  used  in  its  production.  My  depression  was  ex- 
treme, and  a  few  friends  who  were  present  after  the  piece, 
among  them  my  dear  sister  Clara  and  her  husband,  were 
equally  affected.  That  very  evening  I  decided  to  remedy  the 
defects  of  the  first  night  before  the  second  performance.  I 
was  conscious  of  where  the  principal  fault  lay,  but  hardly  dared 
give  expression  to  my  conviction.  At  the  slightest  attempt 
on  my  part  to  explain  anything  to  Tichatschek  I  had  to  aban- 
don it,  as  I  realised  the  impossibility  of  success.  I  should 
only  have  made  him  so  embarrassed  and  annoyed,  that  on  one 
pretext  or  another  he  would  never  have  sung  Tannhiwser 
again.  In  order  to  ensure  the  repetition  of  my  opera,  there- 
fore, I  took  the  only  course  open  to  me  by  arrogating  to  myself 
all  blame  for  the  failure.  I  could  thus  make  considerable 
curtailments,  whereby,  of  course,  the  dramatic  significance  of 
the  leading  role  was  considerably  lessened;  this,  however, 
did  not  interfere  with  the  other  parts  of  the  opera,  which  had 
been  favourably  received.  Consequently,  although  inwardly 
very  humiliated,  I  hoped  to  gain  some  advantage  for  my  work 
at  the  second  performance,  and  was  particularly  desirous  that 
this  should  take  place  with  as  little  delay  as  possible.  But 
Tichatschek  was  hoarse,  and  I  had  to  possess  my  soul  in  pa- 
tience for  fully  a  week. 

I  can  hardly  describe  what  I  suffered  during  that  time;  it 
seemed  as  if  this  delay  would  completely  ruin  my  work.  Every 
day  that  elapsed  between  the  first  and  second  performance 


378  MY  LIFE 

left  the  result  of  the  former  more  and  more  problematic,  until 
at  last  it  appeared  to  be  a  generally  acknowledged  failure. 
While  the  public  as  a  whole  expressed  angry  astonishment 
that,  after  the  approval  they  had  shown  of  my  Rienzi,  I  had 
paid  no  attention  to  their  taste  in  writing  my  new  work,  there 
were  may  kind  and  judicious  friends  who  were  utterly  per- 
plexed at  its  inefficiency,  the  principal  parts  of  which  they 
had  been  unable  to  understand,  or  thought  were  imperfectly 
sketched  and  finished.  The  critics,  with  unconcealed  joy,  at- 
tacked it  as  ravens  attack  carrion  thrown  out  to  them.  Even 
the  passions  and  prejudices  of  the  day  were  drawn  into  the 
controversy  in  order,  if  possible,  to  confuse  men's  minds,  and 
prejudice  them  against  me.  It  was  just  at  the  time  when  the 
German-Catholic  agitation,  set  in  motion  by  Czersky  and  Ronge 
as  a  highly  meritorious  and  liberal  movement,  was  causing  a 
great  commotion.  It  was  now  made  out  that  by  Tannhduser 
I  had  provoked  a  reactionary  tendency,  and  that  precisely  as 
Meyerbeer  with  his  Huguenots  had  glorified  Protestantism,  so 
I  with  my  latest  opera  would  glorify  Catholicism. 

The  rumour  that  in  writing  Tannhduser  I  had  been  bribed 
by  the  Catholic  party  was  believed  for  a  long  time.  While 
the  effort  was  being  made  to  ruin  my  popularity  by  this  means, 
I  had  the  questionable  honour  of  being  approached,  first  by 
letter,  afterwards  in  person,  by  a  certain  M.  Rousseau,  at  that 
time  editor  of  the  Prussian  Staatszeitung,  who  wished  for  my 
friendship  and  help.  I  knew  of  him  only  in  connection  with  a 
scathing  criticism  of  my  Fliegender  Hollander.  He  informed 
me  that  he  had  been  sent  from  Austria  to  further  the  Catholic 
cause  in  Berlin,  but  that  he  had  had  so  many  sad  experiences 
of  the  fruitlessness  of  his  efforts,  that  he  was  now  returning  to 
Vienna  to  continue  his  work  in  this  direction  undisturbed, 
with  which  work  I  had,  by  my  Tannhduser,  proclaimed  myself 
fully  in  accord. 

That  remarkable  paper,  the  Dresdener  Anzeiger,  which  was  a 
local  organ  for  the  redress  of  slander  and  scandal,  daily  pub- 
lished some  fresh  bit  of  news  to  my  prejudice.  At  last  I 
noticed  that  these  attacks  were  met  by  witty  and  forcible 
little  snubs,  and  also  that  encouraging  comments  appeared  in 
my  favour,  which  for  some  time  surprised  me  very  much,  as 


SECOND  PERFORMANCE  DEFERRED   379 

I  knew  that  only  enemies  and  never  friends  interested  them- 
selves in  such  cases.  But  I  learned,  to  my  amusement,  from 
Rockel,  that  he  and  my  friend  Heine  had  carried  out  this 
inspiriting  campaign  on  my  behalf. 

The  ill-feeling  against  me  in  this  quarter  was  only  trouble- 
some because  at  that  unfortunate  period  I  was  hindered  from 
expressing  myself  through  my  work.  Tichatschek  continued 
hoarse,  and  it  was  said  he  would  never  sing  in  my  opera  again. 
I  heard  from  Liittichau  that,  scared  by  the  failure  of  Tann- 
hduser,  he  was  holding  himself  in  readiness  to  countermand 
the  order  for  the  promised  scenery  for  the  Hall  of  Song,  or 
to  cancel  it  altogether.  I  was  so  terrified  at  the  cowardice 
which  was  thus  revealed,  that  I  myself  began  to  look  upon 
Tannhauser  as  doomed.  My  prospects  and  my  whole  position, 
"wnen  viewed  m  fhis'lnood,  may  be  readily  gathered  from  my 
communications,  especially  those  referring  to  my  negotiations 
for  the  publication  of  my  works. 

This  terrible  week  dragged  out  like  an  endless  eternity.  I1 
was  afraid  to  look  anybody  in  the  face,  but  was  one  day  obliged 
to  go  to  Meser's  music  shop,  where  I  met  Gottfried  Semper 
just  buying  a  text-book  of  Tannhauser.  Only  a  short  time 
before  I  had  been  very  much  put  out  in  discussing  this  subject 
with  him;  he  would  listen  to  nothing  I  had  to  say  about  the 
Minnesangers  and  Pilgrims  of  the  Middle  Ages  in  connection 
with  art,  but  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  despised  me  for 
my  choice  of  such  material. 

While  Meser  assured  me  that  no  inquiry  whatever  had  been 
received  for  the  numbers  of  Tannhauser  already  published, 
it  was  strange  that  my  most  energetic  antagonist  should  be 
the  only  person  who  had  actually  bought  and  paid  for  a  copy. 
In  a  peculiarly  earnest  and  impressive  manner  he  remarked  to 
me  that  it  was  necessary  to  be  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
subject  if  a  just  opinion  was  to  be  passed  on  it,  and  that 
for  this  purpose,  unfortunately,  nothing  but  the  text  was 
available.  This  very  meeting  with  Semper,  strange  as  it 
may  appear,  was  the  first  really  encouraging  sign  that  I  can 
remember. 

But  I  found  my  greatest  consolation  in  those  days  of  trouble 
and  anxiety  in  Rockel,  who  from  that  time  forward  entered 


380  MY   LIFE 

into  a  lifelong  intimacy  with  me.  He  had,  without  my  being 
aware  of  it,  disputed,  explained,  quarrelled,  and  petitioned  on 
my  behalf,  and  thereby  roused  himself  to  a  veritable  enthusiasm 
for  Tannhauser.  The  evening  before  the  second  performance, 
which  was  at  last  to  take  place,  we  met  over  a  glass  of  beer, 
and  his  bright  demeanour  had  such  a  cheering  effect  upon  me 
that  we  became  very  lively.  After  contemplating  my  head 
for  some  time,  he  swore  that  it  was  impossible  to  destroy  me, 
that  there  was  a  something  in  me,  something,  probably,  in  my 
blood,  as  similar  characteristics  also  appeared  in  my  brother 
Albert,  who  was  otherwise  so  unlike  me.  To  speak  more 
plainly,  he  called  it  the  peculiar  heat  of  my  temperament; 
this  heat,  he  thought,  might  consume  others,  whereas  I  ap- 
peared to'  feel  at  my  best  when  it  glowed  most  fiercely,  for 
he  had  several  times  seen  me  positively  ablaze.  I  laughed, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  his  nonsense.  Well,  he 
said,  I  should  soon  see  what  he  meant  in  Tannhduser,  for  it 
was  simply  absurd  to  think  the  work  would  not  live;  and 
he  was  absolutely  certain  of  its  success.  I  thought  over  the 
matter  on  my  way  home,  and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  if 
Tannhauser  did  indeed  win  its  way,  and  become  really  popular, 
incalculable  possibilities  might  be  attained. 

At  last  the  time  arrived  for  our  second  performance.  For 
this  I  thought  I  had  made  due  preparation  by  lessening  the 
importance  of  the  principal  part,  and  lowering  my  original 
ideals  about  some  of  the  more  important  portions,  and  I 
hoped  by  accentuating  certain  undoubtedly  attractive  passages 
to  secure  a  genuine  appreciation  of  the  whole.  I  was  greatly 
delighted  with  the  scenery  which  had  at  last  arrived  for  the 
Hall  of  Song  in  the  second  act,  the  beautiful  and  imposing 
effect  of  which  cheered  us  all,  for  we  looked  upon  it  as  a  good 
omen.  Unfortunately  I  had  to  bear  the  humiliation  of  seeing 
the  theatre  nearly  empty.  This,  more  than  anything  else, 
sufficed  to  convince  me  what  the  opinion  of  the  public  really 
was  in  regard  to  my  work.  But,  if  the  audience  was  scanty, 
the  majority,  at  any  rate,  consisted  of  the  first  friends  of  my 
art,  and  the  reception  of  the  piece  was  very  cordial.  Mitter- 
wurzer  especially  aroused  the  greatest  enthusiasm.  As  for 
Tichatschek,  my  anxious  friends,  Rockel  and  Heine,  thought 


TANNHAUSER   AT   LAST    SUCCESSFUL      381 

it  necessary  to  endeavour  by  every  artifice  to  keep  him  in  a 
good  humour  for  his  part.  In  order  to  give  practical  assistance 
in  making  the  undoubted  obscurity  of  the  last  scene  clear,  my 
friends  had  asked  several  young  people,  more  especially  artists, 
to  give  vent  to  torrents  of  applause  at  those  parts  which  are 
not  generally  regarded  by  the  opera-going  public  as  provoking 
any  demonstration.  Strange  to  say,  the  outburst  of  applause 
thus  provoked  after  the  words,  '  An  angel  flies  to  God's  throne 
for  thee,  and  will  make  his  voice  heard;  Heinrich,  thou  art 
saved,'  made  the  entire  situation  suddenly  clear  to  the  public. 
At  all  subsequent  productions  this  continued  to  be  the  principal 
moment  for  the  expression  of  sympathy  on  the  part  of  the 
audience,  although  it  had  passed  quite  unnoticed  on  the  first 
night.  A  few  days  later  a  third  performance  took  place,  but 
this  time  before  a  full  house.  Schroder-Devrient,  depressed 
at  the  small  share  she  was  able  to  take  in  the  success  of  my 
work,  watched  the  progress  of  the  opera  from  the  small  stage 
box;  she  informed  me  that  Liittichau  had  come  to  her  with 
a  beaming  face,  saying  he  thought  we  had  now  carried  Tann- 
hauser  happily  through. 

And  this  certainly  proved  to  be  the  case;  we  often  repeated 
it  in  the  course  of  the  winter,  but  noticed  that  when  two 
performances  followed  close  upon  one  another,  there  was  not 
such  a  rush  for  the  second,  from  which  we  concluded  that  I 
had  not  yet  gained  the  approval  of  the  great  opera-going 
public,  but  only  of  the  more  cultured  section  of  the  community. 
Among  these  real  friends  of  Tannhduser  there  were  many, 
as  I  gradually  discovered,  who  as  a  rule  never  visited  the 
theatre  at  all,  and  least  of  all  the  opera.  This  interest  on  the 
part  of  a  totally  new  public  continued  to  grow  in  intensity, 
and  expressed  itself  in  a  delightful  and  hitherto  unknown 
manner  by  a  strong  sympathy  for  the  author.  It  was  particu- 
larly painful  to  me,  on  Tichatschek's  account,  to  respond  alone 
to  the  calls  of  the  audience  after  almost  every  act;  however, 
I  had  at  last  to  submit,  as  my  refusal  would  only  have  exposed 
the  vocalist  to  fresh  humiliations,  for  when  he  appeared  on 
the  stage  with  his  colleagues  without  me,  the  loud  shouts  for 
me  were  almost  insulting  to  him.  With  what  genuine  eager- 
ness did  I  wish  that  the  contrary  were  the  case,  and  that  the 


382  MY   LIFE 

excellence  of  the  execution  might  overshadow  the  author.  The 
conviction  that  I  should  never  attain  this  with  my  Tannhduser 
in  Dresden  guided  me  in  all  my  future  undertakings.  But,  at 
all  events,  in  producing  Tannhduser  in  this  city  I  had  succeeded 
in  making  at  least  the  cultured  public  acquainted  with  my 
peculiar  tendencies,  by  stimulating  their  mental  faculties  and 
stripping  the  performance  of  all  realistic  accessories.  I  did 
not,  however,  succeed  in  making  these  tendencies  sufficiently 
clear  in  a  dramatic  performance,  and  in  such  an  irresistible 
and  convincing  manner  as  also  to  familiarise  the  uncultivated 
taste  of  the  ordinary  public  with  them  when  they  saw  them 
embodied  on  the  stage. 

By  enlarging  the  circle  of  my  acquaintances,  and  making 
interesting  friends,  I  had  a  good  opportunity  during  the 
winter  of  obtaining  further  information  on  this  point  in  a  way 
that  was  both  instructive  and  encouraging.  My  acquaintance 
and  close  intimacy  at  this  time  with  Dr.  Hermann  Franck 
of  Breslau,  who  had  for  some  time  been  living  quietly  in 
Dresden,  was  also  very  inspiring.  He  was  very  comfortably 
off,  and  was  one  of  those  men  who,  by  a  wide  knowledge  and 
good  judgment,  combined  with  considerable  gifts  as  an  author, 
won  an  excellent  reputation  for  himself  in  a  large  and  select 
circle  of  private  friends,  without,  however,  making  any  great 
name  for  himself  with  the  public.  He  endeavoured  to  use  his 
knowledge  and  abilities  for  the  general  good,  and  was  induced 
by  Brockhaus  to  edit  the  Deutsche  Allgemeine  Zeitung  when  it 
first  started.  This  paper  had  been  founded  by  Brockhaus 
some  years  earlier.  However,  after  editing  it  for  a  year, 
Franck  resigned  this  post,  and  from  that  time  forward  it  was 
only  on  the  very  rarest  occasions  that  he  could  be  persuaded 
to  touch  anything  connected  with  journalism.  His  curt  and 
spirited  remarks  about  his  experiences  in  connection  with  the 
Deutsche  Allgemeine  Zeitung  justified  his  disinclination  to 
engage  in  any  work  connected  with  the  public  press.  My  ap- 
preciation was  all  the  greater,  therefore,  when,  without  any 
persuasion  on  my  part,  he  wrote  a  full  report  on  Tannhduser 
for  the  Augsburger  Allgemeine  Zeitung.  This  appeared  in 
October  or  November,  1845,  in  a  supplement  to  that  paper, 
and  although  it  contained  the  first  account  of  a  work  which 


RELATIONS   .WITH   H.    FRANCE  383 

has  since  been  so  widely  discussed,  I  regard  it,  after  mature 
consideration,  as  the  most  far-reaching  and  exhaustive  that 
has  ever  been  written.  By  this  means  my  name  figured  for 
the  first  time  in  the  great  European  political  paper,  whose 
columns,  in  consequence  of  a  remarkable  change  of  front  which 
was  to  the  interests  of  the  proprietors,  have  since  been  open 
to  any  one  who  wished  to  make  merry  at  the  expense  of  me 
or  my  work. 

The  point  which  particularly  attracted  me  in  Dr.  Franck 
was  the  delicate  and  tactful  art  he  displayed  in  his  criticism 
and  his  methods  of  discussion.  There  was  something  dis- 
tinguished about  them  that  was  not  so  much  the  outcome  of 
rank  and  social  position  as  of  genuine  world-wide  culture. 

The  delicate-  coldness  and  reserve  of  his  manner  charmed 
.rather  th«a  repelled  me,  as  it  was  a  characteristic  I  had  not 
met  with  hitherto.  When  I  found  him  expressing  himself 
with  some  reserve  in  regard  to  persons  who  enjoyed  a  reputa- 
tion to  which  I  did  not  think  they  were  always  entitled,  I  was 
very  pleased  to  see  during  my  intercourse  with  him  that  in 
many  ways  I  exercised  a  decisive  influence  over  his  opinion. 
Even  at  that  time  I  did  not  care  to  let  it  pass  unchallenged 
when  people  evaded  the  close  analysis  of  the  work  of  this  or 
that  celebrity,  by  referring  in  terms  of  eulogy  to  his  '  good- 
nature.' I  even  cornered  my  worldly  wise  friend  on  this  point, 
when  a  few  years  later  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  getting  from  him 
a  very  concise  explanation  of  Meyerbeer's  ( good-nature/  of 
which  he  had  once  spoken,  and  he  recalled  with  a  smile  the 
extraordinary  questions  I  had  put  to  him  at  the  time.  He 
was,  however,  quite  alarmed  when  I  gave  him  a  very  lucid  ex- 
planation of  the  disinterestedness  and  conspicuous  altruism  of 
Mendelssohn  in  the  service  of  art,  of  which  he  had  spoken 
enthusiastically.  In  a  conversation  about  Mendelssohn  he  had 
remarked  how  delightful  it  was  to  find  a  man  able  to  make 
real  sacrifices  in  order  to  free  himself  from  a  false  position 
that  was  of  no  service  to  art.  It  was  assuredly  a  grand  thing, 
he  said,  to  have  renounced  a  good  salary  of  nine  thousand 
marks  as  general  musical  conductor  in  Berlin,  and  to  have 
retired  to  Leipzig  as  a  simple  conductor  at  the  Gewandhaus 
concerts.,  and  Mendelssohn  was  much  to  be  admired  on  that 


384  MY   LIFE 

account.  Just  at  that  time  I  happened  to  be  in  a  position  to 
give  some  correct  details  regarding  this  apparent  sacrifice  on 
the  part  of  Mendelssohn,  because  when  I  had  made  a  serious 
proposal  to  our  general  management  about  increasing  the 
salaries  of  several  of  the  poorer  members  of  the  orchestra, 
Liittichau  was  requested  to  inform  me  that,  according  to  the 
King's  latest  commands,  the  expenditure  on  the  state  bands 
was  to  be  so  restricted  that  for  the  present  the  poorer  chamber 
musicians  could  not  claim  any  consideration,  for  Herr  von 
Falkenstein,  the  governor  of  the  Leipzig  district,  who  was  a 
passionate  admirer  of  Mendelssohn's,  had  gone  so  far  as  to 
influence  the  King  to  appoint  the  latter  secret  conductor, 
with  a  secret  salary  of  six  thousand  marks.  This  sum, 
together  with  the  salary  of  three  thousand  marks  openly  granted 
him  by  the  management  of  the  Leipzig  Gewandhaus,  would 
amply  compensate  him  for  the  position  he  had  renounced  in 
Berlin,  and  he  had  consequently  consented  to  migrate  to  Leipzig. 
This  large  grant  had,  for  decency's  sake,  to  be  kept  secret  by 
the  board  administering  the  band  funds,  not  only  because  it 
was  detrimental  to  the  interests  of  the  institution,  but  also 
because  it  might  give  offence  to  those  who  were  acting  as 
conductors  at  a  lower  salary,  if  they  knew  another  man  had 
been  appointed  to  a  sinecure.  From  these  circumstances  Men- 
delssohn derived  not  only  the  advantage  of  having  the  grant 
kept  a  secret,  but  also  the  satisfaction  of  allowing  his  friends 
to  applaud  him  as  a  model  of  self-sacrificing  zeal  for  going 
to  Leipzig;  which  they  could  easily  do,  although  they  knew 
him  to  be  in  a  good  financial  position.  When  I  explained  this 
to  Franck,  he  was  astonished,  and  admitted  it  was  one  of  the 
strangest  cases  he  had  ever  come  across  in  connection  with 
undeserved  fame. 

We  soon  arrived  at  a  mutual  understanding  in  our  views 
about  many  other  artistic  celebrities  with  whom  we  came  in 
contact  at  that  time  in  Dresden.  This  was  a  simple  matter 
in  the  case  of  Ferdinand  Hiller,  who  was  regarded  as  the  chief 
of  the  '  good-natured '  ones.  Regarding  the  more  famous 
painters  of  the  so-called  Diisseldorf  School,  whom  I  met  fre- 
quently through  the  medium  of  Tannliauser,  it  was  not  quite 
so  easy  to  come  to  a  conclusion,  as  I  was  to  a  great  extent 


KILLER   AND    SCHUMANN  385 

influenced  by  the  fame  attached  to  their  well-known  names; 
but  here  again  Franck  startled  me  with  opportune  and  con- 
clusive reasons  for  disappointment.  When  it  was  a  question 
between  Bendemann  and  Hiibner,  it  seemed  to  me  that  Hiibner 
might  very  well  be  sacrificed  to  Bendemann.  The  latter,  who 
had  only  just  completed  the  frescoes  for  one  of  the  reception- 
rooms  at  the  royal  palace,  and  had  been  rewarded  by  his 
friends  with  a  banquet,  appeared  to  me  to  have  the  right  to  be 
honoured  as  a  great  master.  I  was  very  much  astonished, 
therefore,  when  Franck  calmly  pitied  the  King  of  Saxony 
for  having  had  his  room  '  bedaubed  '  by  Bendemann !  Never- 
theless, there  was  no  denying  that  these  people  were  '  good- 
natured.'  My  intercourse  with  them  became  more  frequent, 
and  at  all  events  offered  me  opportunities  of  mixing  with  the 
more  cultured  artistic  society,  in  distinction  to  the  theatrical 
circles  with  which  I  had  usually  associated;  yet  I  never  de- 
rived from  it  the  least  enthusiasm  or  inspiration.  The  latter, 
however,  appears  to  have  been  Killer's  main  object,  and  that 
winter  he  organised  a  sort  of  social  circle  which  held  weekly 
meetings  at  the  home  of  one  or  the  other  of  its  members  in 
turn.  Reinecke,  who  was  both  painter  and  poet,  joined  this 
society,  together  with  Hiibner  and  Bendemann,  and  had  the 
bad  fortune  to  write  the  new  text  for  an  opera  for  Killer, 
the  fate  of  which  I  will  describe  later  on.  Robert  Schumann, 
the  musician,  who  was  also  in  Dresden  at  this  time,  and  was 
busy  working  out  on  opera,  which  eventually  developed  into 
Genovefa,  made  advances  to  Killer  and  myself.  I  had  already 
known  Schumann  in  Leipzig,  and  we  had  both  entered  upon 
our  musical  careers  at  about  the  same  time.  I  had  also  occasion- 
ally -sent'  small  contributions  to  the  Neue  Zeitschrift  fur  Musik, 
of  which  he  had  formerly  been  editor,  and  more  recently  a  longer 
one  from  Paris  on  Rossini's  Stabat  Mater.  He  had  been  asked 
to  conduct  his  Paradies  und  Peri  at  a  concert  to  be  given  at 
the  theatre;  but  his  peculiar  awkwardness  in  conducting  on 
that  occasion  aroused  my  sympathy  for  the  conscientious  :m<l 
energetic  musician  whose  work  made  so  strong  an  appeal 
to  me,  and  a  kindly  and  friendly  confidence  soon  grew  up 
between  us.  After  a  performance  of  Tannhauser,  at  which 
he  was  present,  he  called  on  me  one  morning  and  declared 


386  MY   LIFE 

himself  fully  and  decidedly  in  favour  of  my  work.  The  only 
objection  he  had  to  make  was  that  the  stretta  of  the  second 
finale  was  too  abrupt,  a  criticism  which  proved  his  keenness 
of  perception;  and  I  was  able  to  show  him,  by  the  score,  how 
I  had  been  compelled,  much  against  my  inclination,  to  curtail 
the  opera,  and  thereby  create  the  position  to  which  he  had 
taken  exception.  We  often  met  when  out  walking  and,  as  far 
as  it  was  possible  with  a  person  so  sparing  of  words,  we  ex- 
changed views  on  matters  of  musical  interest.  He  was  look- 
ing forward  to  the  production,  under  my  baton,  of  Beetho- 
ven's Ninth  Symphony,  as  he  had  attended  the  performances 
at  Leipzig,  and  had  been  very  much  disappointed  by  Mendels- 
sohn's conducting,  which  had  quite  misunderstood  the  time 
of  the  first  movement.  Otherwise  his  society  did  not  inspire 
me  particularly,  and  the  fact  that  he  was  too  (conservative  to 
benefit  by  my  views  was  soon  shown,  more  especially  in  his 
conception  of  the  poem  of  Genovefa.  It  was  clear  that  my 
example  had  only  made  a  very  transient  impression  on  him, 
only  just  enough,  in  fact,  to  make  him  think  it  advisable  to 
write  the  text  of  an  opera  himself.  He  afterwards  invited  me 
to  hear  him  read  his  libretto,  which  was  a  combination  of  the 
styles  of  Hebbel  and  Tieck.  When,  however,  out  of  a  genuine 
desire  'for  the  success  of  his  work,  about  which  I  had  serious 
misgivings,  I  called  his  attention  to  some  grave  defects  in  it, 
and  suggested  the  necessary  alterations,  I  realised  how  matters 
stood  with  this  extraordinary  person:  he  simply  wanted  me 
to  be  swayed  by  himself,  but  deeply  resented  any  interfer- 
ence with  the  product  of  his  own  ideals,  so  that  thenceforward 
I  let  matters  alone. 

In  the  following  winter,  our  circle,  thanks  to  the  assiduity 
of  Hiller,  was  considerably  widened,  and  it  now  became  a 
sort  of  club  whose  object  was  to  meet  freely  every  week  in  a 
room  at  Engel's  restaurant  at  the  Postplatz.  Just  about 
this  time  the  famous  J.  Schnorr  of  Munich  was  appointed 
director  of  the  museums  in  Dresden,  and  we  entertained  him 
at  a  banquet.  I  had  already  seen  some  of  his  large  and 
well-executed  cartoons,  which  made  a  deep  impression  on  me, 
not  only  on  account  of  their  dimensions,  but  also  by  reason 
of  the  events  they  depicted  from  old  German  history,  in  which 


AN   ARTISTIC    CIRCLE  387 

I  was  at  that  time  particularly  interested.  It  was  through 
Schnorr  that  I  now  became  acquainted  with  the  '  Munich 
School '  of  which  he  was  the  master.  My  heart  overflowed 
when  I  thought  what  it  meant  for  Dresden,  if  such  giants  of 
German  art  were  to  shake  hands  there.  I  was  much  struck 
by  Schnorr's  appearance  and  conversation,  and  I  could  not 
reconcile  his  whining  pedagogic  manner  with  his  mighty 
cartoons;  however,  I  thought  it  a  great  stroke  of  luck  when 
he  also  took  to  frequenting  Engel's  restaurant  on  Saturdays. 
He  was  well  versed  in  the  old  German  legends,  and  I  was 
delighted  when  they  formed  the  topic  of  conversation.  The 
famous  sculptor,  Hanel,  used  also  to  attend  these  meetings, 
and  his  marvellous  talent  inspired  me  with  the  greatest  respect, 
although  I  was  not  an  authority  on  his  work,  and  could  only 
judge  of  it  by  my  own  feelings.  I  soon  saw  that  his  bearing 
and  manner  were  affected;  he  was  very  fond  of  expressing 
his  opinion  and  judgment  on  questions  of  art,  and  I  was  not 
in  a  position  to  decide  whether  they  were  reliable  or  otherwise. 
In  fact,  it  often  occurred  to  me  that  I  was  listening  to  a  Philis- 
tine swaggerer.  It  was  only  when  my  old  friend  Pecht,  who 
had  also  settled  in  Dresden  for  a  time,  clearly  and  emphatically 
explained  to  me  Hanel's  standing  as  an  artist,  that  I  conquered 
all  my  secret  doubts,  and  tried  to  find  some  pleasure  in  his 
works.  Rietschel,  who  was  also  a  member  of  our  society,  was 
the  very  antithesis  of  Hanel.  I  often  found  it  difficult  to 
believe  that  the  pale  delicate  man,  with  the  whining  nervous 
way  of  expressing  himself,  was  really  a  sculptor ;  but  as  similar 
peculiarities  in  Schnorr  did  not  prevent  me  from  recognising 
him  as  a  marvellous  painter,  this  helped  me  to  make  friends 
with  Rietschel,  as  he  was  quite  free  from  affectation,  and  had 
a  warm  sympathetic  soul  that  drew  me  ever  closer  to  him. 
I  also  remember  hearing  from  him  a  very  enthusiastic  appre- 
ciation of  my  personality  as  a  conductor.  In  spite,  however, 
of  being  fellow-members  of  our  versatile  art  club,  we  never 
attained  a  footing  of  real  comradeship,  for,  after  all,  no  one 
thought  much  of  anybody  else's  talents.  For  instance,  Hiller 
had  arranged  some  orchestral  concerts,  and  to  commemorate 
them  he  was  entertained  at  the  usual  banquet  by  his  friends, 
when  his  services  were  gratefully  acknowledged  with  due 


388  MY   LIFE 

rhetorical  pathos.  Yet  I  never  found,  in  my  private  inter- 
course with  Killer's  friends,  the  least  enthusiasm  in  regard  to 
his  work;  on  the  contrary,  I  only  noticed  expressions  of  doubt 
and  apprehensive  shrugs. 

These  feted  concerts  soon  came  to  an  end.  At  our  social 
evenings  we  never  discussed  the  works  of  the  masters  who 
were  present;  they  were  not  even  mentioned,  and  it  was 
soon  evident  that  none  of  the  members  knew  what  to  talk 
about.  Semper  was  the  only  man  who,  in  his  extraordinary 
fashion,  often  so  enlivened  our  entertainments  that  Rietschel, 
inwardly  sympathetic,  though  painfully  startled,  would  heartily 
complain  against  the  unrestrained  outbursts  that  led  not 
infrequently  to  hot  discussions  between  Semper  and  myself. 
Strange  to  say,  we  two  always  seemed  to  start  from  the  hy- 
pothesis that  we  were  antagonists,  for  he  insisted  upon  regard- 
ing me  as  the  representative  of  medieval  Catholicism,  which  he 
often  attacked  with  real  fury.  I  eventually  succeeded  in 
persuading  him  that  my  studies  and  inclinations  had  always 
led  me  to  German  antiquity,  and  to  the  discovery  of  ideals  _in 
the  early  Teutonic  myths.  When  we  came  to  paganism,  and 
I  expressed  my  enthusiasm  for  the  genuine  heathen  legends, 
he  became  quite  a  different  being,  and  a  deep  and  growing 

_  interest  now  began  to  unite  us  in  such  a  way  that  it  quite 
isolated  us  from  the  rest  of  the  company.  It  was,  however, 

'  impossible  ever  to  settle  anything  without  a  heated  argument, 
not  only  because  Semper  had  a  peculiar  habit  of  contradicting 
everything  flatly,  but  also  because  he  knew  his  views  were 
opposed  to  those  of  the  entire  company.  His  paradoxical 
assertions,  which  were  apparently  only  intended  to  stir  up 
strife,  soon  made  me  realise,  beyond  any  doubt,  that  he  was 
the  only  one  present  who  was  passionately  in  earnest  about 
everything  he  said,  whereas  all  the  others  were  quite  content 
to  let  the  matter  drop  when  convenient.  A  man  of  the  latter 
type  was  Gutzkow,  who  was  often  with  us;  he  had  been 
summoned  to  Dresden  by  the  general  management  of  our 
court  theatre,  to  act  in  the  capacity  of  dramatist  and  adapter 
of  plays.  Several  of  his  pieces  had  recently  met  with  great 
success:  Zopf  und  Schwert,  Das  Urbild  des  Tartuffe,  and 
Uriel  Acosta,  shed  an  unexpected  lustre  on  the  latest  dramatic 


LAUBE  389 

repertoire,  and  it  seemed  as  though  the  advent  of  Gutzkow 
would  inaugurate  a  new  era  of  glory  for  the  Dresden  theatre, 
where  my  operas  had  also  been  first  produced.  The  good 
intentions  of  the  management  were  certainly  undeniable.  My 
only  regret  on  that  occasion  was  that  the  hopes  my  old  friend 
Laube  entertained  of  being  summoned  to  Dresden  to  fill  that 
post  were  unrealised.  He  also  had  thrown  himself  enthusi- 
astically into  the  work  of  dramatic  literature.  Even  in  Paris 
I  had  noticed  the  eagerness  with  which  he  used  to  study  the 
technique  of  dramatic  composition,  especially  that  of  Scribe, 
in  the  hope  of  acquiring  the  skill  of  that  writer,  without  which, 
as  he  soon  discovered,  no  poetical  drama  in  German  could  be 
successful.  He  maintained  that  he  had  thoroughly  mastered 
this  style  in  his  comedy,  Rococo,  and  he  cherished  the  convic- 
tion that  he  could  work  up  any  imaginable  material  into  an 
effective  stage  play. 

At  the  same  time,  he  was  very  careful  to  show  equal  skill 
in  the  selection  of  his  material.  In  my  opinion  this  theory  of 
his  was  a  complete  failure,  as  his  only  successful  pieces  were 
those  in  which  popular  interest  was  excited  by  catch-phrases. 
This  interest  was  always  more  or  less  associated  with  the 
politics  of  the  day,  and  generally  involved  some  obvious  dia- 
tribes about  '  German  unity  '  and  l  German  Liberalism.'  As 
this  important  stimulus  was  first  applied  by  way  of  experi- 
ment to  the  subscribers  to  our  Residenz  Theater,  and  afterwards 
to  the  German  public  generally,  it  had,  as  I  have  already  said, 
to  be  worked  out  with  the  consummate  skill  which,  presumably, 
could  only  be  learned  from  modern  French  writers  of  comic 
opera. 

I  was  very  glad  to  see  the  result  of  this  study  in  Laube's 
plays,  more  especially  as  when  he  visited  us  in  Dresden,  which 
he  often  did  on  the  occasion  of  a  new  production,  he  admitted  his 
indebtedness  with  modest  candour,  and  was  far  from  pretend- 
ing to  be  a  real  poet.  Moreover,  he  displayed  great  skill  and 
an  almost  fiery  zeal,  not  only  in  the  preparation  of  his  pieces, 
but  also  in  their  production,  so  that  the  offer  of  a  post  at 
Dresden,  the  hope  of  which  had  been  held  out  to  him,  would 
at  least,  from  a  practical  point  of  view,  have  been  a  benefit 
to  the  theatre.  Finally,  however,  the  choice  fell  on  his  rival 


390  MY   LIFE 

Gutzkow,  in  spite  of  his  obvious  unsuitability  for  tlie  practical 
work  of  dramatist.  It  was  evident  that  even  as  regards  his 
successful  plays  his  triumph  was  mainly  due  to  his  literary 
skill,  because  these  effective  plays  were  immediately  followed 
by  wearisome  productions  which  made  us  realise,  to  our  astonish- 
ment, that  he  himself  could  not  have  been  aware  of  the  skill 
he  had  previously  displayed.  It  was,  however,  precisely  these 
abstract  qualities  of  the  genuine  man  of  letters  which,  in  the 
eyes  of  many,  cast  over  him  the  halo  of  literary  greatness ;  and 
when  Liittichau,  thinking  more  of  a  showy  reputation  than  of 
permanent  benefit  to  his  theatre,  decided  to  give  the  prefer- 
ence to  Gutzkow,  he  thought  his  choice  would  give  a  special 
impetus  to  the  cause  of  higher  culture.  To  me  the  appoint- 
ment of  Gutzkow  as  the  director  of  dramatic  art  at  the  theatre 
was  peculiarly  objectionable,  as  it  was  not  long  before  I  was 
convinced  of  his  utter  incompetence  for  the  task,  and  it  was 
probably  owing  to  the  frankness  with  which  I  expressed  my 
opinion  to  Liittichau  that  our  subsequent  estrangement  was 
originally  due.  I  had  to  complain  bitterly  of  the  want  of  judg- 
ment and  the  levity  of  those  who  so  recklessly  selected  men  to 
fill  the  posts  of  managers  and  conductors  in  such  precious 
institutions  of  art  as  the  German  royal  theatres.  To  obviate 
the  failure  I  felt  convinced  must  follow  on  this  important 
appointment,  I  made  a  special  request  that  Gutzkow  should 
not  be  allowed  to  interfere  in  the  management  of  the  opera; 
he  readily  yielded,  and  thus  spared  himself  great  humiliation. 
This  action,  however,  created  a  feeling  of  mistrust  between  us, 
though  I  was  quite  ready  to  remove  this  as  far  as  possible 
by  coming  into  personal  contact  with  him  whenever  oppor- 
tunity offered  on  those  evenings  when  the  artists  used  to 
gather  at  the  club,  as  already  described.  I  would  gladly  have 
made  this  strange  man,  whose  head  was  anxiously  bowed  down 
on  his  breast,  relax  and  unburden  himself  in  his  conversations 
with  me,  but  I  was  unsuccessful,  on  account  of  his  constant 
reserve  and  suspicion,  and  his  studied  aloofness.  An  oppor- 
tunity arose  for  a  discussion  between  us  when  he  wanted  the 
orchestra  to  take  a  melodramatic  part  (which  they  afterwards 
did)  in  a  certain  scene  of  his  Uriel  Acosta,  where  the  hero  had 
to  recant  his  alleged  heresy.  The  orchestra  had  to  execute 


GUTZKOW   AND   B.    AUEKBACH  391 

the  soft  tremolo  for  a  given  time  on  certain  chords,  but  when 
I  heard  the  performance  it  appeared  to  me  absurd,  and  equally 
derogatory  both  for  the  music  and  the  drama. 

On  one  of  these  evenings  I  tried  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  Gutzkow  concerning  this,  and  the  employment  of  music 
generally  as  a  melodramatic  auxiliary  to  the  drama,  and  I 
discussed  my  views  on  the  subject  in  accordance  with  the 
highest  principles  I  had  conceived.  He  met  all  the  chief  points 
of  my  discussion  with  a  nervous  distrustful  silence,  but  finally 
explained  that  I  really  went  too  far  in  the  significance  which 
I  claimed  for  music,  and  that  he  failed  to  understand  how  music 
would  be  degraded  if  it  were  applied  more  sparingly  to  the 
drama,  seeing  that  the  claims  of  verse  were  often  treated  with 
much  less  respect  when  it  was  used  as  a  mere  accessory  to 
operatic  music.  To  put  it  practically,  in  fact,  it  would  be 
advisable  for  the  librettist  not  to  be  too  dainty  in  this  matter; 
it  was  n't  possible  always  to  give  the  actor  a  brilliant  exit ;  at 
the  same  time,  however,  nothing  could  be  more  painful  than 
when  the  chief  performer  made  his  exit  without  any  applause. 
In  such  cases  a  little  distracting  noise  in  the  orchestra  really 
supplied  a  happy  diversion.  This  I  actually  heard  Gutzkow 
say;  moreover,  I  saw  that  he  really  meant  it!  After  this  I 
felt  I  had  done  with  him. 

It  was  not  long  before  I  had  equally  little  to  do  with  all  the 
painters,  musicians,  and  other  zealots  in  art  belonging  to  our 
society.  At  the  same  time,  however,  I  came  into  closer  con- 
tact with  Berthold  Auerbach.  With  great  enthusiasm,  Alwine 
Frommann  had  already  drawn  my  attention  to  Auerbach's 
Pastoral  Stories.  The  account  she  gave  of  these  modest  works 
(for  that  is  how  she  characterised  them)  sounded  quite 
attractive.  She  said  that  they  had  had  the  same  refreshing 
effect  on  her  circle  of  friends  in  Berlin  as  that  produced  by 
opening  the  window  of  a  scented  boudoir  (to  which  she  com- 
pared the  literature  they  had  hitherto  been  used  to),  and 
letting  in  the  fresh  air  of  the  woods.  After  that  I  read  the 
Pastoral  Stories  of  the  Black  Forest,  which  had  so  quickly 
become  famous,  and  I,  too,  was  strongly  attracted  by  the 
contents  and  tone  of  these  realistic  anecdotes  about  the  life 
of  the  people  in  a  locality  which  it  was  easy  enough  to  identify 


392  MY   LIFE 

from  the  vivid  descriptions.  As  at  this  time  Dresden  seemed 
to  be  becoming  ever  more  and  more  the  rendezvous  for  the 
lights  of  our  literary  and  artistic  world,  Auerbach  also  recon- 
ciled himself  to  taking  up  his  quarters  in  this  city;  and  for 
quite  a  long  time  lived  with  his  friend  Hiller,  who  thus  again 
had  a  celebrity  at  his  side  of  equal  standing  with  himself.  The 
short,  sturdy  Jewish  peasant  boy,  as  he  was  placed  to  repre- 
sent himself  to  be,  made  a  very  agreeable  impression.  It  was 
only  later  that  I  understood  the  significance  of  his  green 
jacket,  and  above  all  of  his  green  hunting-cap,  which  made 
him  look  exactly  what  the  author  of  Swabian  Pastoral  Stories 
ought  to  look  like,  and  this  significance  was  anything  but  a 
nai've  one.  The  Swiss  poet,  Gottfried  Keller,  once  told  me 
that,  when  Auerbach  was  in  Zurich,  and  he  had  decided  on 
taking  him  up,  he  (Auerbach)  had  drawn  his  attention  to  the 
best  way  in  which  to  introduce  one's  literary  effusions  to  the 
public,  and  to  make  money,  and  he  advised  him,  above  all 
things,  to  get  a  coat  and  cap  like  his  own,  for  being,  as  he  said, 
like  himself,  neither  handsome  nor  well  grown,  it  would  be 
far  better  deliberately  to  make  himself  look  rough  and  queer; 
so  saying,  he  placed  his  cap  on  his  head  in  such  a  way  as  to 
look  a  little  rakish.  For  the  time  being,  I  perceived  no  real 
affectation  in  Auerbach;  he  had  assimilated  so  much  of  the 
tone  and  ways  of  the  people,  and  had  done  this  so  happily, 
that,  in  any  case,  one  could  not  help  asking  oneself  why,  with 
these  delightful  qualities,  he  should  move  with  such  tremen- 
dous ease  in  spheres  that  seemed  absolutely  antagonistic.  At 
all  events,  he  always  seemed  in  his  true  element  even  in  those 
circles  which  really  seemed  most  opposed  to  his  assumed 
character;  there  he  stood  in  his  green  coat,  keen,  sensitive, 
and  natural,  surrounded  by  the  distinguished  society  that 
flattered  him;  and  he  loved  to  show  letters  he  had  received 
from  the  Grand  Duke  of  Weimar  and  his  answers  to  them,  all 
the  time  looking  at  things  from  the  standpoint  of  the  Swabian 
peasant  nature  which  suited  him  so  admirably. 

What  especially  attracted  me  to  him  was  the  fact  that  he 
was  the  first  Jew  I  ever  met  with  whom  one  could  discuss 
Judaism  with  absolute  freedom.  He  even  seemed  particularly 
desirous  of  removing,  in  his  agreeable  manner,  all  prejudice 


AUERBACH   AS   A   JEW  393 

on  this  score;  and  it  was  really  touching  to  hear  him  speak 
of  his  boyhood,  and  declare  that  he  was  perhaps  the  only 
German  who  had  read  Klopstock's  Messiah  all  through.  Hav- 
ing one  day  become  absorbed  in  this  work,  which  he  read 
secretly  in  his  cottage  home,  he  had  played  the  truant  from 
school,  and  when  he  finally  arrived  too  late  at  the  school-house, 
his  teacher  angrily  exclaimed:  'You  confounded  Jew-boy, 
where  have  you  been  ?  Lending  money  again  ? '  Such  experi- 
ences had  only  made  him  feel  pensive  and  melancholy,  but  not 
bitter,  and  he  had  even  been  inspired  with  real  compassion 
for  the  coarseness  of  his  tormentors.  These  were  traits  in  his 
character  which  drew  me  very  strongly  to  him.  As  time 
went  on,  however,  it  seemed  to  me  a  serious  matter  that  he 
could  not  get  away  from  the  atmosphere  of  these  ideas,  for  I 
began  to  feel  that  the  universe  contained  no  other  problem 
for  him  than  the  elucidation  of  the  Jewish  question.  One  day, 
therefore,  I  protested  as  good-naturedly  and  confidentially  as 
I  could,  and  advised  him  to  let  the  whole  problem  of  Judaism 
drop,  as  there  were,  after  all,  many  other  standpoints  from 
which  the  world  might  be  criticised.  Strange  to  say,  he 
thereupon  not  only  lost  his  ingeniousness,  but  also  fell  to 
whining  in  an  ecstatic  fashion,  which  did  not  seem  to  me  very 
genuine,  and  assured  me  that  that  would  be  an  impossibility 
for  him,  as  there  was  still  so  much  in  Judaism  which  needed 
his  whole  sympathy.  I  could  not  help  recalling  the  surprising 
anguish  which  he  had  manifested  on  this  occasion,  when  I 
learned,  in  the  course  of  time,  that  he  had  repeatedly  arranged 
Jewish  marriages,  concerning  the  happy  result  of  which  I  heard 
nothing,  save  that  he  had,  by  this  means,  made  quite  a  fortune. 
When,  several  years  afterwards,  I  again  saw  him  in  Zurich,  I 
observed  that  his  appearance  had  unfortunately  changed  in  a 
manner  quite  disconcerting:  he  looked  really  extraordinarily 
common  and  dirty;  his  former  refreshing  liveliness  had  turned 
into  the  usual  Jewish  restlessness,  and  it  was  easy  to  see  that 
all  he  said  was  uttered  as  if  he  regretted  that  his  words  could 
not  be  turned  to  better  account  in  a  newspaper  article. 

During  his  time  in  Dresden,  however,  Auerbach's  warm 
agreement  with  my  artistic  projects  really  did  me  good,  even 
though  it  may  have  been  only  from  his  Semitic  and  Swabian 


394  MY   LIFE 

standpoint;  so  did  the  novelty  of  the  experience  I  was  at  that 
time  undergoing  as  an  artist,  in  meeting  with  ever-increasing 
regard  and  recognition  among  people  of  note,  of  acknowledged 
importance  and  of  exceptional  culture.  If,  after  the  success 
obtained  by  Bienzij  I  still  remained  with  the  circle  of  the  real 
theatrical  world,  the  greater  success  following  on  Tannhduser 
certainly  brought  me  into  contact  with  such  people  as  I  have" 
mentioned  above,  who,  though  to  be  sure  they  considerably 
enlarged  my  ideas,  at  the  same  time  impressed  me  very 
unfavourably  with  what  was  apparently  the  pinnacle  of  the 
artistic  life  of  the  period.  At  any  rate,  I  felt  neither  rewarded 
nor,  fortunately,  even  diverted  by  the  acquaintances  I  won 
by  the  first  performance  of  my  Tannhduser  that  winter.  On 
the  contrary,  I  felt  an  irresistible  desire  to  withdraw  into  my 
shell  and  leave  these  gay  surroundings  into  which,  strangely 
enough,  I  had  been  introduced  at  the  instigation  of  Hiller, 
whom  I  soon  recognised  as  being  a  nonentity.  I  felt  I  must 
quickly  compose  something,  as  this  was  the  only  means  of 
ridding  myself  of  all  the  disturbing  and  painful  excitement 
Tannhduser  had  produced  in  me. 

Only  a  few  weeks  after  the  first  performances  I  had  worked 
out  the  whole  of  the  Lohengrin  text.  In  November  I  had  already 
read  this  poem  to  my  intimate  friends,  and  soon  afterwards 
to  the  Hiller  set.  It  was  praised,  and  pronounced  '  effective.' 
Schumann  also  thoroughly  approved  of  it,  although  he  did 
not  understand  the  musical  form  in  which  I  wished  to  carry 
it  out,  as  he  saw  no  resemblance  in  it  to  the  old  methods 
of  writing  individual  solos  for  the  various  artists.  I  then  had 
some  fun  in  reading  different  parts  of  my  work  to  him  in 
the  form  of  arias  and  cavatinas,  after  which  he  laughingly 
declared  himself  satisfied. 

Serious  reflection,  however,  aroused  my  gravest  doubts  as  to 
the  tragic  character  of  the  material  itself,  and  to  these  doubts 
I  had  been  led,  in  a  manner  both  sensible  and  tactful,  by  Franck. 
He  thought  it  offensive  to  effect  Elsa's  punishment  through 
Lohengrin's  departure;  for  although  he  understood  that  the 
characteristics  of  the  legend  were  expressed  precisely  by  this 
highly  poetical  feature,  he  was  doubtful  as  to  whether  it  did 
full  justice  to  the  demands  of  tragic  feeling  in  its  relation  to 


DISPUTE    CONCERNING   LOHENGRIN 

dramatic  realism.  He  would  have  preferred  to  see  Lohengrin 
die  before  our  eyes  owing  to  Elsa's  loving  treachery.  As, 
however,  this  did  not  seem  feasible,  he  would  have  liked  to 
see  Lohengrin  spell-bound  by  some  powerful  motive,  and  pre- 
vented from  getting  away.  Although,  of  course,  I  would  not 
agree  to  any  of  these  suggestions,  I  went  so  far  as  to  consider 
whether  I  could  not  do  away  with  the  cruel  separation,  and 
still  retain  the  incident  of  Lohengrin's  departure,  which  was 
essential.  I  then  sought  for  a  means  of  letting  Elsa  go  away 
with  Lohengrin,  as  a  form  of  penance  which  would  withdraw 
her  also  from  the  world.  This  seemed  more  promising  to  my 
talented  friend.  While  I  was  still  very  doubtful  about  all 
this,  I  gave  my  poem  to  Frau  von  Liittichau,  so  that  she  might 
peruse  it,  and  criticise  the  point  raised  by  Franck.  In  a  little 
letter,  in  which  she  expressed  her  pleasure  at  my  poem,  she 
wrote  briefly,  but  very  decidedly,  on  the  knotty  question,  and 
declared  that  Franck  must  be  devoid  of  all  poetry  if  he  did  not 
understand  that  it  was  exactly  in  the  way  I  had  chosen,  and 
in  no  other,  that  Lohengrin  must  depart.  I  felt  as  if  a  load 
had  fallen  from  my  heart.  In  triumph  I  showed  the  letter  to 
Franck,  who,  much  abashed,  and  by  way  of  excusing  himself, 
opened  a  correspondence  with  Frau  von  Liittichau,  which 
certainly  cannot  have  been  lacking  in  interest,  though  I  was 
never  able  to  see  any  of  it.  In  any  case,  the  upshot  of  it 
was  that  Lohengrin  remained  as  I  had  originally  conceived  it. 
Curiously  enough,  some  time  later,  I  had  a  similar  experience 
with  regard  to  the  same  subject,  which  again  put  me  in  a 
temporary  state  of  uncertainty.  When  Adolf  Stahr  gravely 
raised  the  same  objection  to  the  solution  of  the  Lohengrin 
question,  I  was  really  taken  aback  by  the  uniformity  of 
opinion;  and  as,  owing  to  some  excitement,  I  was  just  then 
no  longer  in  the  same  mood  as  when  I  composed  Lohengrin. 
I  was  foolish  enough  to  write  a  hurried  letter  to  Stahr  in  which, 
with  but  a  few  slight  reservations,  I  declared  him  to  be  right 
I  did  not  know  that,  by  this,  I  was  causing  real  grief  to  Liszt, 
who  was  now  in  the  same  position  with  regard  to  Stahr  as 
Frau  von  Liittichau  had  been  with  regard  to  Franck.  Fortu- 
nately, however,  the  displeasure  of  my  great  friend  at  my 
supposed  treachery  to  myself  did  not  last  long;  for,  without 


396  MY   LIFE 

having  got  wind  of  the  trouble  I  had  caused  him,  and  thanks  to 
the  torture  I  myself  was  going  through,  I  came  to  the  proper 
decision  in  a  few  days,  and,  as  clear  as  daylight,  I  saw  what 
madness  it  had  been.  I  was  therefore  able  to  rejoice  Liszt 
with  the  following  laconical  protest  which  I  sent  him  from  my 
Swiss  resort :  '  Stahr  is  wrong,  and  Lohengrin  is  right/ 

For  the  present  I  remained  occupied  with  the  revision  of 
my  poem,  for  there  could  be  no  question  of  planning  the  music 
to  it  just  now.  That  peaceful  and  harmonious  state  of  mind 
which  is  so  favourable  to  creative  work,  and  always  so  neces- 
sary to  me  for  composing,  I  now  had  to  secure  with  the  greatest 
difficulty,  for  it  was  one  of  the  things  I  always  had  the 
hardest  struggle  to  obtain.  All  the  experiences  connected  with 
the  performance  of  Tannhduser  having  filled  me  with  true 
despair  as  to  the  whole  future  of  my  artistic  operations,  I  saw 
it  was  hopeless  to  think  of  its  production  being  extended  to 
other  German  theatres  —  for  I  had  not  been  able  to  achieve 
this  end  even  with  the  successful  Rienzi.  It  was  perfectly 
obvious,  therefore,  that  my  work  would,  at  the  utmost,  be 
conceded  a  permanent  place  in  the  Dresden  repertoire.  As 
the  result  of  all  this,  my  pecuniary  affairs,  which  have  already 
been  described,  had  got  into  such  a  serious  state  that  a  catas- 
trophe seemed  inevitable.  While  I  was  preparing  to  meet 
this  in  the  best  way  I  could,  I  tried  to  stupefy  myself,  on  the 
one  hand,  by  plunging  into  the  study  of  history,  mythology, 

'  and  literature,  which  were  becoming  ever  dearer  and  dearer 
/  to  me,  and  on  the  other  by  working  incessantly  at  my  artistic 
enterprises.  As  regards  the  former,  I  was  chiefly  interested 
in  the  German  Middle  Ages,  and  tried  to  make  myself  familiar 
with  every  point  relative  to  this  period.  Although  I  could  not 
set  about  this  task  with  philological  precision,  I  proceeded 
with  such  earnestness  that  I  studied  the  German  records, 
published  by  Grimm,  for  instance,  with  the  greatest  interest. 

i  As  I  could  not  put  the  results  of  such  studies  immediately  into 
my  scenes,  there  were  many  who  could  not  understand  why, 

'  as  an  operatic  composer,  I  should  waste  my  time  on  such 
barren  work.  Different  people  remarked  later  on,  that  the 
personality  of  Lohengrin  had  a  charm  quite  its  own;  but  this 
was  ascribed  to  the  happy  selection  of  the  subject,  and  I  was 


THE   NINTH   SYMPHONY  397 

specially  praised  for  choosing  it.  Material  from  the  German 
Middle  Ages,  and  later  on,  subjects  from  Scandinavian  an- 
tiquity, were  therefore  looked  forward  to  by  many,  and,  in 
the  end,  they  were  astonished  that  I  gave  them  no  adequate 
result  of  all  my  labours.  Perhaps  it  will  be  of  help  to  them 
if  I  now  tell  them  to  take  the  old  records  and  such  works  to 
their  aid.  I  forgot  at  that  time  to  call  Hiller's  attention  to 
my  documents,  and  with  great  pride  he  seized  upon  a  subject 
out  of  the  history  of  the  Hohenstaufen.  As,  however,  he  had 
no  success  with  his  work,  he  may  perhaps  think  I  was  a  little 
artful  for  not  having  spoken  to  him  of  the  old  records. 

Concerning  my  other  duties,  my  chief  undertaking  for  this 
winter  consisted  in  an  exceptionally  carefully  prepared  per- 
formance of  Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony,  which  took  place 
in  the  spring  on  Palm  Sunday.  This  performance  involved 
many  a  struggle,  besides  a  host  of  experiences  which  were  des- 
tined to  exercise  a  strong  influence  over  my  further  develop- 
ment. Roughly  they  were  as  follows:  the  royal  orchestra  had 
only  one  opportunity  a  year  of  showing  their  powers  inde- 
pendently in  a  musical  performance  outside  the  Opera  or  the 
church.  For  the  benefit  of  the  Pension  Fund  for  their  widows 
and  orphans,  the  old  so-called  Opera  House  was  given  up 
to  a  big  performance  originally  only  intended  for  oratorios. 
Ultimately,  in  order  to  make  it  more  attractive,  a  symphony 
was  always  added  to  the  oratorio;  and,  as  already  mentioned, 
I  had  performed  on  such  occasions,  once  the  Pastoral  Symphony, 
and  later  Haydn's  Creation.  The  latter  was  a  great  joy  to 
me,  and  it  was  on  this  occasion  that  I  first  made  its  acquaint- 
ance. As  we  two  conductors  had  stipulated  for  alternate 
performances,  the  Symphony  on  Palm  Sunday  of  the  year  1846 
fell  to  my  lot.  I  had  a  great  longing  for  the  Ninth  Symphony, 
and  I  was  led  to  the  choice  of  this  work  by  the  fact  that  it 
was  almost  unknown  in  Dresden.  When  the  directors  of  the 
orchestra,  who  were  the  trustees  of  the  Pension  Fund,  and 
who  had  to  promote  its  increase,  got  to  know  of  this,  such  a 
fright  seized  them  that  they  interviewed  the  general  director, 
Liittichau,  and  begged  him,  by  virtue  of  his  high  authority,  to 
dissuade  me  from  carrying  out  my  intention.  They  gave  as  a 
reason  for  this  request,  that  the  Pension  Fund  would  surely 


398  MY   LIFE 

suffer  through  the  choice  of  this  symphony,  as  the  work  was  in 
ill-repute  in  the  place,  and  would  certainly  keep  people  from 
going  to  the  concert.  The  symphony  had  been  performed 
many  years  before  by  Reissiger  at  a  charity  concert,  and,  as 
the  conductor  himself  honestly  admitted,  had  been  an  absolute 
failure.  Now  it  needed  my  whole  ardour,  and  all  the  eloquence 
I  could  command,  to  prevail  over  the  doubts  of  our  principal. 
With  the  orchestral  directors,  however,  there  was  nothing  for 
me  to  do  but  quarrel,  as  I  heard  that  they  were  complaining  all 
over  the  town  about  my  indiscretion.  In  order  to  add  shame 
to  their  trouble,  I  made  up  my  mind  to  prepare  the  public  in 
such  a  way  for  the  performance,  upon  which  I  had  resolved, 
and  for  the  work  itself,  that  at  least  the  sensation  caused  would 
lead  to  a  full  hall  and  thus,  in  a  very  favourable  manner, 
guarantee  satisfactory  returns,  and  contradict  their  belief 
that  the  fund  was  menaced.  Thus  the  Ninth  Symphony  had, 
in  every  conceivable  way,  become  for  me  a  point  of  honour, 
for  the  success  of  which  I  had  to  exercise  all  my  powers  to  the 
utmost.  The  committee  had  misgivings  regarding  the  outlay 
needed  for  procuring  the  orchestral  parts,  so  I  borrowed  them 
from  the  Leipzig  Concert  Society. 

Imagine  my  feelings,  however,  on  now  seeing  for  the  first 
time  since  my  earliest  boyhood  the  mysterious  pages  of  this 
score,  which  I  studied  conscientiously!  In  those  days  the 
sight  of  these  same  pages  had  filled  me  with  the  most  mystic 
reveries,  and  I  had  stayed  up  for  nights  together  to  copy  them 
out.  Just  as  at  the  time  of  my  uncertainty  in  Paris,  on  hearing 
the  rehearsal  of  the  first  three  movements  performed  by  the 
incomparable  orchestra  of  the  Conservatoire,  I  had  been 
carried  back  through  years  of  error  and  doubt  to  be  placed  in 
marvellous  touch  with  my  earliest  days,  while  all  my  inmost 
aspirations  had  been  fruitfully  stimulated  in  a  new  direction, 
so  now  in  the  same  way  the  memory  of  that  music  was  secretly 
awakened  in  me  as  I  again  saw  before  my  own  eyes  that  which 
in  those  early  days  had  likewise  been  only  a  mysterious  vision. 
I  had  by  this  time  experienced  much  which,  in  the  depths 
of  my  soul,  drove  me  almost  unconsciously  to  a  process  of 
summing-up,  to  an  almost  despairing  inquiry  concerning  my 
fate.  What  I  dared  not  acknowledge  to  myself  was  the  fact 


FRESH  STUDY  OF  THE  SCOEE     399 

of  the  absolute  insecurity  of  my  existence  both  from  the 
artistic  and  financial  point  of  view;  for  I  saw  that  I  was  a 
stranger  to  my  own  mode  of  life  as  well  as  to  my  profession, 
and  I  had  no  prospects  whatsoever.  This  despair,  which  I 
tried  to  conceal  from  my  friends,  was  now  converted  into 
genuine  exaltation,  thanks  entirely  to  the  Ninth  Symphony. 
It  is  not  likely  that  the  heart  of  a  disciple  has  ever  been  filled 
with  such  keen  rapture  over  the  work  of  a  master,  as  mine  was 
at  the  first  movement  of  this  symphony.  If  any  one  had  come 
upon  me  unexpectedly  while  I  had  the  open  score  before  me, 
and  had  seen  me  convulsed  with  sobs  and  tears  as  I  went 
through  the  work  in  order  to  consider  the  best  manner  of 
rendering  it,  he  would  certainly  have  asked  with  astonishment 
if  this  were  really  fitting  behaviour  for  the  Conductor  Royal  of 
Saxony!  Fortunately,  on  such  occasions  I  was  spared  the 
visits  of  our  orchestra  directors,  and  their  worthy  conductor 
Reissiger,  and  even  those  of  F.  Hiller,  who  was  so  versed  in 
classical  music. 

In  the  first  place  I  drew  up  a  programme,  for  which  the 
book  of  words  for  the  chorus  —  always  ordered  according  to 
custom  —  furnished  me  with  a  good  pretext.  I  did  this  in  order 
to  provide  a  guide  to  the  simple  understanding  of  the  work,  and 
thereby  hoped  to  appeal  not  to  the  critical  judgment,  but 
solely  to  the  feelings,  of  the  audience.  This  programme,  in  the 
framing  of  which  some  of  the  chief  passages  in  Goethe's  Faust 
were  exceedingly  helpful  to  me,  was  very  well  received,  not 
only  on  that  occasion  in  Dresden,  but  later  on  in  other  places. 
Besides  this,  I  made  use  of  the  Dresden  Anzeiger,  by  writing 
all  kinds  of  short  and  enthusiastic  anonymous  paragraphs, 
in  order  to  whet  the  public  taste  for  a  work  which  hitherto 
had  been  in  ill-repute  in  Dresden. 

Not  only  did  these  purely  extraneous  exertions  succeed  in 
making  the  receipts  of  that  year  by  far  exceed  any  that  had 
been  taken  theretofore,  but  the  orchestra  directors  themselves, 
during  the  remaining  years  of  my  stay  in  Dresden,  made  a  point 
of  ensuring  similarly  large  profits  by  repeated  performances  of 
the  celebrated  symphony.  Concerning  the  artistic  side  of  the 
performance,  I  aimed  at  making  the  orchestra  give  as  expressive 
a  rendering  as  possible,  and  to  this  end  made  all  kinds  of  notes, 


400  MY  LIFE 

myself,  in  the  various  parts,  so  as  to  make  quite  sure  that  their 
interpretation  would  be  as  clear  and  as  coloured  as  could  be 
desired.  It  was  principally  the  custom  which  existed  then  of 
doubling  the  wind  instruments,  that  led  me  to  a  most  careful 
consideration  of  the  advantages  this  system  presented,  for,  in 
performances  on  a  large  scale,  the  following  somewhat  crude 
rule  prevailed:  all  those  passages  marked  piano  were  executed 
by  a  single  set  of  instruments,  while  those  marked  forte  were 
carried  out  by  a  duplicated  set.  As  an  instance  of  the  way  in 
which  I  took  care  to  ensure  an  intelligible  rendering  by  this 
means,  I  might  point  to  a  certain  passage  in  the  second  move- 
ment of  the  symphony,  where  the  whole  of  the  string  instru- 
ments play  the  principal  and  rhythmical  figure  in  C  major  for 
the  first  time;  it  is  written  in  triple  octaves,  which  play 
uninterruptedly  in  unison  and,  to  a  certain  degree,  serve  as  an 
accompaniment  to  the  second  theme,  which  is  only  performed 
by  feeble  wood  instruments.  As  fortissimo  is  indicated  alike 
for  the  whole  orchestra,  the  result  in  every  imaginable  render- 
ing must  be  that  the  melody  for  the  wood  instruments  not  only 
completely  disappears,  but  cannot  even  be  heard  through  the 
strings,  which,  after  all,  are  only  accompanying.  Now,  as 
I  never  carried  my  piety  to  the  extent  of  taking  directions 
absolutely  literally,  rather  than  sacrifice  the  effect  really  in- 
tended by  the  master  to  the  erroneous  indications  given,  I 
made  the  strings  play  only  moderately  loudly  instead  of  real 
fortissimo,  up  to  the  point  where  they  alternate  with  the  wind 
instruments  in  taking  up  the  continuation  of  the  new  theme: 
thus  the  motive,  rendered  as  it  was  as  loudly  as  possible  by  a 
double  set  of  wind  instruments,  was,  I  believe  for  the  first  time 
since  the  existence  of  the  symphony,  heard  with  real  distinct- 
ness. I  proceeded  in  this  manner  throughout,  in  order  to 
guarantee  the  greatest  exactitude  in  the  dynamical  effects 
of  the  orchestra.  There  was  nothing,  however  difficult, 
which  was  allowed  to  be  performed  in  such  a  way  as  not  to 
arouse  the  feelings  of  the  audience  in  a  particular  manner. 
For  example,  many  brains  had  been  puzzled  by  the  Fugato  in 
|  time  which  comes  after  the  chorus,  Froh  wie  seine  Sonnen 
fliegen,  in  the  movement  of  the  finale  marked  alia  marcia. 
In  view  of  the  preceding  inspiriting  verses,  which  seemed  to  be 


MY   IOTERPKETATIOH    OF   SYMPHONY    401 

preparing  for  combat  and  victory,  I  conceived  this  Fugato 
really  as  a  glad  but  earnest  war-song,  and  I  took  it  at  a  con- 
tinuously fiery  tempo,  and  with  the  utmost  vigour.  The  day 
following  the  first  performance  I  had  the  satisfaction  of  receiv- 
ing a  visit  from  the  musical  director  Anacker  of  Freiburg, 
who  came  to  tell  me  somewhat  penitently,  that  though  until 
then  he  had  been  one  of  my  antagonists,  since  the  performance 
of  the  symphony  he  certainly  reckoned  himself  among  my 
friends.  What  had  absolutely  overwhelmed  him,  he  said,  was 
precisely  my  conception  and  interpretation  of  the  Fugato. 
Furthermore,  I  devoted  special  attention  to  that  extraordinary 
passage,  resembling  a  recitative  for  the  'cellos  and  basses, 
which  comes  at  the  beginning  of  the  last  movement,  and  which 
had  once  caused  my  old  friend  Pohlenz  such  great  humiliation 
in  Leipzig.  Thanks  to  the  exceptional  excellence  of  our  bass 
players,  I  felt  certain  of  attaining  to  absolute  perfection  in  this 
passage.  After  twelve  special  rehearsals  of  the  instruments 
alone  concerned,  I  succeeded  in  getting  them  to  perform  in  a  way 
which  sounded  not  only  perfectly  free,  but  which  also  expressed 
the  most  exquisite  tenderness  and  the  greatest  energy  in  a 
thoroughly  impressive  manner. 

From  the  very  beginning  of  my  undertaking  I  had  at  once 
recognised,  that  the  only  method  of  achieving  overwhelming 
popular  success  with  this  symphony  was  to  overcome,  by  some 
ideal  means,  the  extraordinary  difficulties  presented  by  the 
choral  parts.  I  realised  that  the  demands  made  by  these  parts 
could  be  met  only  by  a  large  and  enthusiastic  body  of  singers. 
It  was  above  all  necessary,  then,  to  secure  a  very  good  and 
large  choir;  so,  besides  adding  the  somewhat  feeble  Dreissig 
'  Academy  of  Singing '  to  our  usual  number  of  members  in  the 
theatre  chorus,  in  spite  of  great  difficulties  I  also  enlisted  the 
help  of  the  choir  from  the  Kreuzschule,  with  its  fine  boys'  voices, 
and  the  choir  of  the  Dresden  seminary,  which  had  had  much 
practice  in  church  singing.  In  a  way  quite  my  own  I  now  tried 
to  get  these  three  hundred  singers,  who  were  frequently  united 
for  rehearsals,  into  a  state  of  genuine  ecstasy;  for  instance,  I 
succeeded  in  demonstrating  to  the  basses  that  the  celebrated 
passage  Seid  umschlungen,  Millionen,  and  especially  Briider, 
uber'm  Sternenzelt  muss  ein  guter  Vater  wolinen,  could  not  be 


402  MY   LIFE 

sung  in  an  ordinary  manner,  but  must,  as  it  were,  be  proclaimed 
with  the  greatest  rapture.  In  this  I  took  the  lead  in  a  manner 
so  elated  that  I  really  think  I  literally  transported  them  to  a 
world  of  emotion  uttery  strange  to  them  for  a  while;  and  I 
did  not  desist  till  my  voice,  which  had  been  heard  clearly  above 
all  the  others,  began  to  be  no  longer  distinguishable  even  to 
myself,  but  was  drowned,  so  to  speak,  in  the  warm  sea  of 
sound. 

It  gave  me  particular  pleasure,  with  Mitterwurzer's  co- 
operation, to  give  a  most  overwhelmingly  expressive  rendering 
of  the  recitative  for  baritone:  Freunde,  nicht  diese  Tone.  In 
view  of  its  exceptional  difficulties  this  passage  might  almost  be 
considered  impossible  to  perform,  and  yet  he  executed  it  in  a 
way  which  showed  what  fruit  our  mutual  interchange  of  ideas 
had  borne.  I  also  took  care  that,  by  means  of  the  complete 
reconstruction  of  the  hall,  I  should  obtain  good  acoustic  con- 
ditions for  the  orchestra,  which  I  had  arranged  according  to 
quite  a  new  system  of  my  own.  As  may  be  imagined,  it  was 
only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the  money  for  this  could 
be  found;  however,  I  did  not  give  up,  and  owing  to  a  totally 
new  construction  of  the  platform,  I  was  able  to  concentrate  the 
whole  of  the  orchestra  towards  the  centre,  and  surround  it, 
in  amphitheatre  fashion,  by  the  throng  of  singers  who  were 
accommodated  on  seats  very  considerably  raised.  This  was 
not  only  of  great  advantage  to  the  powerful  effect  of  the  choir, 
but  it  also  gave  great  precision  and  energy  to  the  finely  organised 
orchestra  in  the  purely  symphonic  movements. 

Even  at  the  general  rehearsal  the  hall  was  overcrowded. 
Reissiger  was  guilty  of  the  incredible  stupidity  of  working  up 
the  public  mind  against  the  symphony  and  drawing  attention 
to  Beethoven's  very  regrettable  error.  Gade,  on  the  other 
hand,  who  came  to  visit  us  from  Leipzig,  where  he  was  then 
conducting  the  Gewandhaus  Concerts,  assured  me  after  the 
general  rehearsal,  that  he  would  willingly  have  paid  double 
the  price  of  his  ticket  in  order  to  hear  the  recitative  by  the 
basses  once  more;  whilst  Hiller  considered  that  I  had  gone 
too  far  in  my  modification  of  the  tempo.  What  he  meant  by  this 
I  learned  subsequently  when  I  heard  him  conducting  intricate 
orchestral  works ;  but  of  this  I  shall  have  more  to  say  later  on. 


SUCCESS    OF    THE    NINTH   SYMPHONY     403 

There  was  no  denying  that  the  performance  was,  on  the  whole, 
a  success;  in  fact,  it  exceeded  all  our  expectations,  and  was 
particularly  well  received  by  the  non-musical  public.  Among 
these  I  remember  the  philologist  Dr.  Kochly,  who  came  to  me 
at  the  end  of  the  evening  and  confessed  that  it  was  the  first 
time  he  had  been  able  to  follow  a  symphonic  work  from  begin- 
ning to  end  with  intelligent  interest.  This  experience  left  me 
with  a  pleasant  feeling  of  ability  and  power,  and  strongly  con- 
firmed me  in  the  belief,  that  if  I  only  desired  anything  with 
sufficient  earnestness,  I  was  able  to  achieve  it  with  irresistible 
and  overwhelming  success.  I  now  had  to  consider,  however, 
what  the  difficulties  were,  which  hitherto  had  prevented  a 
similarly  happy  production  of  my  own  new  conceptions. 
Beethoven's  Ninth  Symphony,  which  was  still  such  a  problem 
to  so  many,  and  had,  at  all  events,  never  attained  to  popularity, 
I  had  been  able  to  make  a  complete  success;  yet,  as  often  as 
it  was  put  on  the  stage,  my  Tannhauser  taught  me  that  the 
possibilities  of  its  success  had  yet  to  be  discovered.  How  was 
this  to  be  done  ?  This  was  and  remained  the  secret  question 
which  influenced  all  my  subsequent  development. 

I  dared  not,  however,  indulge  at  that  time  in  any  medita- 
tion on  this  point  with  the  view  of  arriving  at  any  particular 
results,  for  the  real  significance  of  my  failure,  of  which  I  was 
inwardly  convinced,  stood  absolutely  bare  before  me  with  all 
its  terrifying  lessons.  Albeit,  I  could  no  longer  delay  taking 
even  the  most  disagreeable  steps  with  the  view  of  warding  off 
the  catastrophe  which  menaced  my  financial  position. 

I  was  led  to  this,  thanks  to  the  influence  of  a  ridiculous 
omen.  My  agent,  the  purely  nominal  publisher  of  my  three 
operas  —  Rienzi,  the  Fliegender  Hollander,  and  Tannhauser  — 
the  eccentric  court  music  publisher,  C.  F.  Meser,  invited  me  one 
day  to  the  cafe  known  as  the  '  Verderber '  to  discuss  our  money 
affairs.  With  great  qualms  we  talked  over  the  possible  results 
of  the  Annual  Easter  Fair,  and  wondered  whether  they  would 
be  tolerably  good  or  altogether  bad.  I  gave  him  courage,  and 
ordered  a  bottle  of  the  best  Haut-Sauterne.  A  venerable 
flask  made  its  appearance;  I  filled  the  glasses,  and  we  drank 
to  the  good  success  of  the  Fair;  when  suddenly  we  both 
yelled  as  though  we  had  gone  mad,  while,  with  horror,  we  tried 


404:  MY   LIFE 

to  rid  our  mouths  of  the  strong  Tarragon  vinegar  with  which 
we  had  been  served  by  mistake.  '  Heavens !  '  cried  Meser, 
*  nothing  could  be  worse ! '  (  True  enough/  I  answered,  '  no 
doubt  there  is  much  that  will  turn  to  vinegar  for  us/  My 
good-humour  revealed  to  me  in  a  flash  that  I  must  try  some 
other  way  of  saving  myself  than  by  means  of  the  Easter  Fair. 

Not  only  was  it  necessary  to  refund  the  capital  which  had 
been  got  together  by  dint  of  ever-increasing  sacrifices,  in  order 
to  defray  the  expenses  of  the  publication  of  my  operas;  but, 
owing  to  the  fact  that  I  had  been  obliged  ultimately  to  seek 
aid  from  the  usurers,  the  rumour  of  my  debts  had  spread  so 
far  abroad,  that  even  those  friends  who  had  helped  me  at  the 
time  of  my  arrival  in  Dresden  were  seized  with  anxiety  on  my 
account.  At  this  time  I  met  with  a  really  sad  experience  at 
the  hands  of  Madame  Schroder-Devrient,  who,  as  the  result 
of  her  incomprehensible  lack  of  discretion,  did  much  to  bring 
about  my  final  undoing.  When  I  first  settled  in  Dresden,  as 
I  have  already  pointed  out,  she  lent  me  three  thousand  marks, 
not  only  to  help  me  to  discharge  my  debts,  but  also  to  allow 
me  to  contribute  to  the  maintenance  of  my  old  friend  Kietz  in 
Paris.  Jealousy  of  my  niece  Johanna,  and  suspicion  that  I  had 
made  her  (my  niece)  come  to  Dresden  in  order  to  make  it  easier 
for  the  general  management  to  dispense  with  the  services  of  the 
great  artist,  had  awakened  in  this  otherwise  so  noble-minded 
woman  the  usual  feelings  of  animosity  towards  me,  which  are 
so  often  met  with  in  the  theatrical  profession.  She  had  now 
given  up  her  engagement;  she  even  declared  openly  that  I 
had  been  partly  instrumental  in  obtaining  her  dismissal;  and 
abandoning  all  friendly  regard  for  me,  whereby  she  deeply 
wronged  me  in  every  respect,  she  placed  the  I.O.U.  I  had  given 
her  in  the  hands  of  an  energetic  lawyer,  and  without  further 
ado  this  man  sued  me  for  the  payment  of  the  money.  Thus  I 
was  forced  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  everything  to  Liittichau, 
and  to  beseech  him  to  intervene  for  me,  and  if  possible  to  obtain 
a  royal  advance  that  would  enable  me  to  clear  my  position, 
which  was  so  seriously  compromised. 

My  principal  declared  himself  willing  to  support  any  request 
I  might  wish  to  address  to  the  King  on  this  matter.  To  this 
end  I  had  to  note  down  the  amount  of  my  debts;  but  as  I 


LOAN   FROM    THEATRE   PENSION  EUBTD   405 

soon  discovered  that  the  necessary  sum  could  only  be  assigned 
to  me  as  a  loan  from  the  Theatre  Pension  Fund,  at  an  interest 
of  five  per  cent.,  and  that  I  should  moreover  have  to  secure 
the  capital  of  the  Pension  Fund  by  a  life  insurance  policy, 
which  would  cost  me  annually  three  per  cent,  of  the  capital 
borrowed,  I  was,  for  obvious  reasons,  tempted  to  leave  out  of 
my  petition  all  those  of  my  debts  which  were  not  of  a  pressing 
nature,  and  for  the  payment  of  which  I  thought  I  could  count 
on  the  receipts  which  I  might  finally  expect  from  my  publish- 
ing enterprises.  Nevertheless,  the  sacrifices  I  had  to  make 
in  order  to  repay  the  help  offered  me  increased  to  such  an 
extent,  that  my  salary  of  conductor,  in  itself  very  slender, 
promised  to  be  materially  diminished  for  some  time  to  come. 
I  was  forced  to  make  the  most  irksome  efforts  to  gather 
together  the  necessary  sum  for  the  life  insurance  policy,  and 
was  therefore  obliged  frequently  to  appeal  to  Leipzig.  In 
addition  to  this,  I  had  to  overcome  the  most  appalling  doubts 
in  regard  both  to  my  health  and  to  the  probable  length  of  my 
life,  concerning  which  I  fancied  I  had  heard  all  sorts  of 
malicious  apprehensions  expressed  by  those  who  had  observed 
me  but  casually  in  the  miserable  condition  which  I  was  in  at 
that  time.  My  friend  Pusinelli,  as  a  doctor  who  was  very 
intimate  with  me,  eventually  managed  to  give  such  satisfactory 
information  concerning  the  state  of  my  health,  that  I  succeeded 
in  insuring  my  life  at  the  rate  of  three  per  cent. 

The  last  of  these  painful  journeys  to  Leipzig  was,  at  all 
events,  made  under  pleasant  circumstances  owing  to  a  kind 
invitation  from  the  old  Maestro  Louis  Spohr.  I  was  particu- 
larly pleased  over  this,  because  to  me  it  meant  nothing  less  than 
an  act  of  reconciliation.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  Sophr  had  written 
to  me  on  one  occasion,  and  had  declared  that,  stimulated  by 
the  success  of  my  Fliegender  Hollander  and  his  own  enjoyment 
of  it,  he  had  once  more  decided  to  take  up  the  career  of  a 
dramatic  composer,  which  of  recent  years  had  brought  him 
such  scant  success.  His  last  work  was  an  opera  —  Die  Kreuz- 
fahrer  —  which  he  had  sent  to  the  Dresden  theatre  in  the  course 
of  the  preceding  year  in  the  hope,  as  he  himself  assured  me, 
that  I  would  urge  on  its  production.  After  asking  this  favour, 
he  drew  my  attention  to  the  fact  that  in  this  work  he  had  made 


406  MY   LIFE 

an  absolutely  new  departure  from  his  earlier  operas,  and  had 
kept  to  the  most  precise  rhythmically  dramatic  declamation, 
which  had  certainly  been  made  all  the  more  easy  for  him  by 
the  l  excellent  subject.'  Without  being  actually  surprised, 
my  horror  was  indeed  great  when,  after  studying  not  only  the 
text,  but  also  the  score,  I  discovered  that  the  old  maestro  had 
been  absolutely  mistaken  in  regard  to  the  account  he  had 
given  me  of  his  work.  The  custom  in  force  at  that  time  that 
the  decision  concerning  the  production  of  works  should  not, 
as  a  rule,  rest  with  one  of  the  conductors  alone,  did  not  tend 
to  make  me  any  less  fearful  of  declaring  myself  emphatically 
in  favour  of  this  work.  In  addition  to  this,  it  was  Reissiger, 
who,  as  he  had  often  boasted,  was  an  old  friend  of  Spohr's, 
whose  turn  it  was  to  select  and  produce  a  new  work.  Un- 
fortunately, as  I  learned  later,  the  general  management  had 
returned  Spohr's  opera  to  its  author  in  such  a  curt  manner 
as  to  offend  him,  and  he  complained  bitterly  of  this  to  me. 
Genuinely  concerned  at  this,  I  had  evidently  managed  to  calm 
and  appease  him,  for  the  invitation  mentioned  above  was 
clearly  a  friendly  acknowledgment  of  my  efforts.  He  wrote 
that  it  was  very  painful  for  him  to  have  to  touch  at  Dresden 
on  his  way  to  one  of  the  watering-places;  as,  however,  he  had 
a  real  longing  to  make  my  acquaintance,  he  begged  me  to 
meet  him  in  Leipzig,  where  he  was  going  to  stay  for  a  few  days. 
This  meeting  with  him  did  not  leave  me  unimpressed.  He 
was  a  tall,  stately  man,  distinguished  in  appearance,  and  of  a 
serious  and  calm  temperament.  He  gave  me  to  understand, 
in  a  touching,  almost  apologetic  manner,  that  the  essence  of 
his  education  and  of  his  aversion  from  the  new  tendencies  in 
music,  had  its  origin  in  the  first  impressions  he  had  received 
on  hearing,  as  a  very  young  boy,  Mozart's  Magic  Flute,  a  work 
which  was  quite  new  at  that  time,  and  which  had  a  great  influ- 
ence on  his  whole  life.  Regarding  my  libretto  to  Lohengrin, 
which  I  had  left  behind  for  him  to  read,  and  the  general  im- 
pression which  my  personal  acquaintance  had  made  on  him, 
he  expressed  himself  with  almost  surprising  warmth  to  my 
brother-in-law,  Hermann  Brockhaus,  at  whose  house  we  had 
been  invited  to  dine,  and  where,  during  the  meal,  the  conversa- 
tion was  most  animated.  Besides  this,  we  had  met  at  real 


A   SUMMER   HOLIDAY 


407 


musical  evenings  at  the  conductor  Hauptmann's  as  well  as  at 
Mendelssohn's,  on  which  occasion  I  heard  the  master  take  the 
violin  in  one  of  his  own  quartettes.  It  was  precisely  in  these 
circles  that  I  was  impressed  by  the  touching  and  venerable 
dignity  of  his  absolutely  calm  demeanour.  Later  on,  I  learned 
from  witnesses  —  for  whose  testimony,  be  it  said,  I  cannot 
vouch  —  that  Tannhduser,  when  it  was  performed  at  Cassel, 
had  caused  him  so  much  confusion  and  pain  that  he  declared 
he  could  no  longer  follow  me,  and  feared  that  I  must  be  on  the 
wrong  road. 

In  order  to  recover  from  all  the  hardships  and  cares  I  had 
gone  through,  I  now  managed  to  obtain  a  special  favour  from 
the  management,  in  the  form  of  a  three  months'  leave,  in 
which  to  improve  my  health  in  rustic  retirement,  and  to  get 
pure  air  to  breathe  while  composing  some  new  work.  To  this 
end  I  had  chosen  a  peasant's  house  in  the  village  of  Gross- 
Graupen,  which  is  half-way  between  Pillnitz  and  the  border 
of  what  is  known  as  *  Saxon  Switzerland.'  Frequent  excur- 
sions to  the  Porsberg,  to  the  adjacent  Liebethaler,  and  to  the 
far  distant  bastion  helped  to  strengthen  my  unstrung  nerves. 
While  I  was  first  planning  the  music  to  Lohengrin,  I  was 
disturbed  incessantly  by  the  echoes  of  some  of  the  airs  in 
Rossini's  William  Tell,  which  was  the  last  opera  I  had  had  to 
conduct.  At  last  I  happened  to  hit  on  an  effective  means  of 
stopping  this  annoying  obtrusion:  during  my  lonely  walks 
I  sang  with  great  emphasis  the  first  theme  from  the  Ninth 
Symphony,  which  had  also  quite  lately  been  revived  in  my 
memory.  This  succeeded !  At  Pirna,  where  one  can  bathe 
in  the  river,  I  was  surprised,  on  one  of  my  almost  regular 
evening  constitutionals,  to  hear  the  air  from  the  Pilgrim's 
Chorus  out  of  Tannhduser  whistled  by  some  bather,  who  was 
invisible  to  me.  This  first  sign  of  the  possibility  of  popularis- 
ing the  work,  which  I  had  with  such  difficulty  succeeded  in 
getting  performed  in  Dresden,  made  an  impression  on  me 
which  no  similar  experience  later  on  has  ever  been  able  to 
surpass.  Sometimes  I  received  visits  from  friends  in  Dresden, 
and  among  them  Hans  von  Billow,  who  was  then  sixteen  years 
old,  came  accompanied  by  Lipinsky.  This  gave  me  great 
pleasure,  because  I  had  already  noticed  the  interest  which  he 


408  MY   LIFE 

took  in  me.  Generally,  however,  I  had  to  rely  only  on  my 
wife's  company,  and  during  my  long  walks  I  had  to  be  satisfied 
with  my  little  dog  Peps.  During  this  summer  holiday,  of 
which  a  great  part  of  the  time  had  at  the  beginning  to  be 
devoted  to  the  unpleasant  task  of  arranging  my  business  affairs, 
and  also  to  the  improvement  of  my  health,  I  nevertheless 
succeded  in  making  a  sketch  of  the  music  to  the  whole  of  the 
three  acts  of  Lohengrin,  although  this  cannot  be  said  to  have 
consisted  of  anything  more  than  a  very  hasty  outline. 

With  this  much  gained,  I  returned  in  August  to  Dresden, 
and  resumed  my  duties  as  conductor,  which  every  year  seemed 
to  become  more  and  more  burdensome  to  me.  Moreover,  I 
immediately  plunged  once  more  into  the  midst  of  troubles 
which  had  only  just  been  temporarily  allayed.  The  business 
of  publishing  my  operas,  on  the  success  of  which  I  still  counted 
as  the  only  means  of  liberating  me  from  my  difficult  position, 
demanded  ever-fresh  sacrifices  if  the  enterprise  were  to  be  made 
worth  while.  But  as  my  income  was  now  very  much  reduced, 
even  the  smallest  outlays  necessarily  led  me  into  ever-new  and 
more  painful  complications;  and  I  once  more  lost  all  courage. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  tried  to  strengthen  myself  by  again 
working  energetically  at  Lohengrin.  While  doing  this,  I  pro- 
V  ceeded  in  a  manner  that  I  have  not  since  repeated.  I  first 
of  all  completed  the  third  act,  and  in  view  of  the  criticism 
already  mentioned  of  the  characters  and  conclusion  of  this 
act,  I  determined  to  try  to  make  it  the  very  pivot  of  the  whole 
opera.  I  wished  to  do  this,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  the  musical 
motive  appearing  in  the  story  of  the  Holy  Grail ;  but  in  other 
respects  the  plan  struck  me  as  perfectly  satisfactory. 

Owing  to  previous  suggestions  on  my  part,  Gluck's  Iphigenia 
in  A.ulis  was  to  be  produced  this  winter.  I  felt  it  my  duty  to 
give  more  care  and  attention  to  this  work,  which  interested  me 
particularly  on  account  of  its  subject,  than  I  had  given  to  the 
study  of  the  Armida.  In  the  first  place,  I  was  upset  by  the 
translation  in  which  the  opera  with  the  Berlin  score  was  pre- 
sented to  us.  In  order  not  to  be  led  into  false  interpretations 
through  the  instrumental  additions  which  I  considered  very 
badly  applied  in  this  score,  I  wrote  for  the  original  edition  from 
Paris.  When  I  had  made  a  thorough  revision  of  the  trans- 


lation,  with  a  view  merely  to  the  correctness  of  declamation, 
I  was  spurred  on  by  my  increasing  interest  to  revise  the  score 
itself.  I  tried  to  bring  the  poem  as  far  as  possible  into  agree- 
ment with  Euripides'  play  of  the  same  name,  by  the  elimination 
of  everything  which,  in  deference  to  French  taste,  made  the 
relationship  between  Achilles  and  Iphigenia  one  of  tender  love. 
The  chief  alteration  of  all  was  to  cut  out  the  inevitable  marriage 
at  the  end.  For  the  sake  of  the  vitality  of  the  drama  I  tried 
to  join  the  arias  and  choruses,  which  generally  followed  im- 
mediately upon  each  other  without  rhyme  or  reason,  by  con- 
necting links,  prologues  and  epilogues.  In  this  I  did  my  best, 
by  the  use  of  Gluck's  themes,  to  make  the  interpolations  of  a 
strange  composer  as  unnoticeable  as  possible.  In  the  third  act 
alone  was  I  obliged  to  give  Iphigenia,  as  well  as  Artemis,  whom 
I  had  myself  introduced,  recitatives  of  my  own  composition. 
Throughout  the  rest  of  the  work  I  revised  the  whole  instru- 
mentation more  or  less  thoroughly,  but  only  with  the  object 
of  making  the  existing  version  produce  the  effect  I  desired. 
It  was  not  till  the  end  of  the  year  that  I  was  able  to  finish  this 
tremendous  task,  and  I  had  to  postpone  the  completion  of  the 
third  act  of  Lohengrin,  which  I  had  already  begun,  until  the 
New  Year. 

The  first  thing  to  claim  my  attention  at  the  beginning  of 
the  year  (1847)  was  the  production  of  Iphigenia.  I  had  to  act 
as  stage  manager  in  this  case,  and  was  even  obliged  to  help  the 
scene-painters  and  the  mechanicians  over  the  smallest  details. 
Owing  to  the  fact  that  the  scenes  in  this  opera  were  generally 
strung  together  somewhat  clumsily  and  without  any  apparent 
connection,  it  was  necessary  to  recast  them  completely,  in 
order  so  to  animate  the  representation  as  to  give  to  the  dramatic 
action  the  life  it  lacked.  A  good  deal  of  this  faultiness  of  con- 
struction seemed  to  me  due  to  the  many  conventional  practices 
which  were  prevalent  at  the  Paris  Opera  in  Gluck's  time. 
Mitterwurzer  was  the  only  actor  in  the  whole  cast  who  gave 
me  any  pleasure.  In  the  role  of  Agamemnon  he  showed  a 
thorough  grasp  of  that  character,  and  carried  out  my  instruc- 
tions and  suggestions  to  the  letter,  so  that  he  succeeded  in 
giving  a  really  splendid  and  intelligent  rendering  of  the  part. 
The  success  of  the  whole  performance  was  far  beyond  my 


410  MY    LIFE 

expectations,  and  even  the  directors  were  so  surprised  at  the 
exceptional  enthusiasm  aroused  by  one  of  Gluck's  operas,  that 
for  the  second  performance  they,  on  their  own  initiative,  had 
my  name  put  on  the  programme  as  l  Reviser.'  This  at  once 
drew  the  attention  of  the  critics  to  this  work,  and  for  once  they 
almost  did  me  justice;  my  treatment  of  the  overture,  the  only 
part  of  the  opera  which  these  gentlemen  heard  rendered  in  the 
usual  trivial  way,  was  the  only  thing  that  they  could  find  fault 
with.  I  have  discussed  and  given  an  accurate  account  of  all 
that  relates  to  this  in  a  special  article  on  '  Gluck's  Overture  to 
Iphigenia  in  Aulis,'  and  I  only  wish  to  add  here  that  the 
musician  who  made  such  strange  comments  on  this  occasion 
was  Ferdinand  Hiller. 

As  in  former  years,  the  winter  meetings  of  the  various  artistic 
elements  in  Dresden  which  Hiller  had  inaugurated,  continued 
to  take  place;  but  they  now  assumed  more  the  character  of 
1  salons '  in  Hiller's  own  house,  and  it  seemed  to  me  intended 
solely  for  the  purpose  of  laying  the  foundations  for  a  general 
recognition  of  Hiller's  artistic  greatness.  He  had  already 
founded,  among  the  more  wealthy  patrons  of  art,  the  chief  of 
whom  was  the  banker  Kaskel,  a  society  for  running  subscription 
concerts.  As  it  was  impossible  for  the  royal  orchestra  to  be 
placed  at  his  disposal  for  this  purpose,  he  had  to  content  him- 
self with  members  of  the  town  and  military  bands  for  his 
orchestra,  and  it  cannot  be  denied  that,  thanks  to  his  persever- 
ance, he  attained  a  praiseworthy  result.  As  he  produced  many 
compositions  which  were  still  unknown  in  Dresden,  especially 
from  the  domain  of  more  modern  music,  I  was  often  tempted  to 
go  to  his  concerts.  His  chief  bait  to  the  general  public,  how- 
ever, seemed  to  lie  in  the  fact  that  he  presented  unknown 
singers  (among  whom,  unfortunately,  Jenny  Lind  was  not  to 
be  found)  and  virtuosos,  one  of  which,  Joachim,  who  was  then 
very  young,  I  became  acquainted  with. 

Hiller's  treatment  of  those  works  with  which  I  was  already 
well  acquainted,  showed  what  his  musical  power  was  really 
worth.  The  careless  and  indifferent  manner  in  which  he 
interpreted  a  Triple  Concerto  by  Sebastian  Bach  positively 
astounded  me.  In  the  tempo  di  minuetto  of  the  Eighth  Sym- 
phony of  Beethoven,  I  found  that  Hiller's  rendering  was  even 


STUDY    OF    GEEEK    ANTIQUITY  411 

more  astonishing  than  Keissiger's  and  Mendelssohn's.  I  prom- 
ised to  be  present  at  the  performance  of  this  symphony  if  I 
could  rely  on  his  giving  a  correct  rendering  of  the  tempo  of 
the  third  phrase,  which  was  generally  so  painfully  distorted. 
He  assured  me  that  he  thoroughly  agreed  with  me  about  it, 
and  my  disappointment  at  the  performance  was  all  the  greater 
when  I  found  the  well-known  waltz  measure  adopted  again. 
When  I  called  him  to  account  about  it  he  excused  himself  with 
a  smile,  saying  that  he  had  been  seized  with  a  fit  of  temporary 
abstraction  just  at  the  beginning  of  the  phrase  in  question, 
which  had  made  him  forget  his  promise.  For  inaugurating 
these  concerts,  which,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  only  lasted  for  two 
seasons,  Hiller  was  given  a  banquet,  which  I  also  had  much 
pleasure  in  attending.  ^, 

People  in  these  circles  were  surprised  at  that  time  to  hear  .^ 
me  speak,  often  with  great  animation,  about  Greek  literature 
and  history,  but  never  about  music.  In  the  course  of  my 
reading,  which  I  zealously  pursued,  and  which  drew  me  away 
from  my  professional  activities  to  retirement  and  solitude,  I 
was  at  that  time  impelled  by  my  spiritual  needs  to  turn  my 
attention  once  more  to  a  systematic  study  of  this  all-important 
source  of  culture,  with  the  object  of  filling  the  perceptible  gap 
between  my  boyhood's  knowledge  of  the  eternal  elements  of 
human  culture  and  the  neglect  of  this  field  of  learning  due  to 
the  life  I  had  been  obliged  to  lead.  In  order  to  approach  the 
real  goal  of  my  desires  —  the  study  of  Old  and  Middle  High 
German  —  in  the  right  frame  of  mind,  I  began  again  from  the 
beginning  with  Greek  antiquity,  and  was  now  filled  with  such 
overwhelming  enthusiasm  for  this  subject  that,  whenever  I 
entered  into  conversation,  and  by  hook  or  by  crook  had 
managed  to  get  it  round  to  this  theme,  I  could  only  speak  in 
terms  of  the  strongest  emotion.  I  occasionally  met  some  one 
who  seemed  to  listen  to  what  I  had  to  say;  on  the  whole, 
however,  people  preferred  to  talk  to  me  only  about  the  theatre 
because,  since  my  production  of  Gluck's  Iphigenia,  they  thought 
themselves  justified  in  thinking  I  was  an  authority  on  this 
subject.  I  received  special  recognition  from  a  man  to  whom 
I  quite  rightly  gave  the  credit  of  being  at  least  as  well  versed 
as  myself  in  the  matter.  This  was  Eduard  Devrient,  who  had 


412  MY   LIFE 

been  forced  at  that  time  to  resign  his  position  as  stage  manager- 
in-chief  owing  to  a  plot  against  him  on  the  part  of  the  actors, 
headed  by  his  own  brother  Emil.  We  were  brought  into  closer 
sympathy  by  our  conversations  in  connection  with  this,  which 
led  him  into  dissertations  on  the  triviality  and  thorough  hope- 
lessness of  our  whole  theatrical  life,  especially  under  the  ruining 
influence  of  ignorant  court  managers,  which  could  never  be 
overcome. 

We  were  also  drawn  together  by  his  intelligent  understanding 
of  the  part  I  had  played  in  the  production  of  Iphigenia,  which 
he  compared  with  the  Berlin  production  of  the  same  piece,  that 
had  been  utterly  condemned  by  him.  He  was  for  a  long  time 
the  only  man  with  whom  I  could  discuss,  seriously  and  in 
detail,  the  real  needs  of  the  theatre  and  the  means  by  which 
its  defects  might  be  remedied.  Owing  to  his  longer  and  more 
specialised  experience,  there  was  much  he  could  tell  me  and 
make  clear  to  me;  in  particular  he  helped  me  successfully 
to  overcome  the  idea  that  mere  literary  excellence  is  enough 
for  the  theatre,  and  confirmed  my  conviction  that  the  path 
to  true  prosperity  lay  only  with  the  stage  itself  and  with  the 
actors  of  the  drama. 

From  this  time  forward,  till  I  left  Dresden,  my  intercourse 
with  Eduard  Devrient  grew  more  and  more  friendly,  though  his 
dry  nature  and  obvious  limitations  as  an  actor  had  attracted  me 
but  little  before.  His  highly  meritorious  work,  Die  Gescliichte 
der  deutschen  Schauspielkunst  ('  History  of  German  Dramatic 
Art '),  which  he  finished  and  published  about  that  time,  threw 
a  fresh  and  instructive  light  on  many  problems  which  exercised 
my  mind,  and  helped  me  to  master  them  for  the  first  time. 

At  last  I  managed  once  more  to  resume  my  task  of  composing 
the  third  act  of  Lohengrin,  which  had  been  interrupted  in  the 
middle  of  the  Bridal  Scene,  and  I  finished  it  by  the  end  of  the 
winter.  After  the  repetition,  by  special  request,  of  the  Ninth 
Symphony  at  the  concert  on  Palm  Sunday  had  revived  me,  I 
tried  to  find  comfort  and  refreshment  for  the  further  progress 
of  my  new  work  by  changing  my  abode,  this  time  without 
asking  permission.  The  old  Marcolini  palace,  with  a  very 
large  garden  laid  out  partly  in  the  French  style,  was  situated 
in  an  outlying  and  thinly  populated  suburb  of  Dresden. 


THE   MARCOLINI   PALACE  413 

It  had  been  sold  to  the  town  council,  and  a  part  of  it  was  to 
be  let.  The  sculptor,  Hanel,  whom  I  had  known  for  a  long 
time,  and  who  had  given  me  as  a  mark  of  friendship  an  orna- 
ment in  the  shape  of  a  perfect  plaster  cast  of  one  of  the  bas- 
reliefs  from  Beethoven's  monument  representing  the  Ninth 
Symphony,  had  taken  the  large  rooms  on  the  ground  floor 
of  a  side-wing  of  this  palace  for  his  dwelling  and  studio.  At 
Easter  I  moved  into  the  spacious  apartments,  above  him,  the 
rent  of  which  was  extremely  low,  and  found  that  the  large 
garden  planted  with  glorious  trees,  which  was  placed  at  my 
disposal,  and  the  pleasant  stillness  of  the,  whole  place,  not  only 
provided  mental  food  for  the  weary  artist,  but  at  the  same 
time,  by  lessening  my  expenses,  improved  my  straitened 
finances.  We  soon  settled  down  quite  comfortably  in  the 
long  row  of  pleasant  rooms  without  having  incurred  any  un- 
necessary expense,  as  Minna  was  very  practical  in  her  arrange- 
ments. The  only  real  inconvenience  which  in  the  course  of  time 
I  found  our  new  home  possessed,  was  its  inordinate  distance 
from  the  theatre.  This  was  a  great  trial  to  me  after  fatiguing 
rehearsals  and  tiring  performances,  as  the  expense  of  a  cab 
was  a  serious  consideration.  But  we  were  favoured  by  an 
exceptionally  fine  summer,  which  put  me  in  a  happy  frame  of 
mind,  and  soon  helped  to  overcome  every  inconvenience. 

At  this  time  I  insisted  with  the  utmost  firmness  on  refraining 
from  taking  any  further  share  in  the  management  of  the  theatre, 
and  I  had  most  cogent  reasons  to  bring  forth  in  defence  of 
my  conduct.  All  my  endeavours  to  set  in  order  the  wilful 
chaos  which  prevailed  in  the  use  of  the  costly  artistic  materials 
at  the  disposal  of  this  royal  institution  were  repeatedly 
thwarted,  merely  because  I  wished  to  introduce  some  method 
into  the  arrangements.  In  a  carefully  written  pamphlet 
which,  in  addition  to  my  other  work,  I  had  compiled  during  the 
past  winter,  I  had  drawn  up  a  plan  for  the  reorganisation  of 
the  orchestra,  and  had  shown  how  we  might  increase  the 
productive  power  of  our  artistic  capital  by  making  a  more 
methodical  use  of  the  royal  funds  intended  for  its  maintenance, 
and  showing  greater  discretion  regarding  salaries.  This  in- 
crease in  the  productive  power  would  raise  the  artistic  spirit 
as  well  as  improve  the  economic  position  of  the  members  of  the 


414  MY   LIFE 

orchestra,  for  I  should  have  liked  them  at  the  same  time  to 
form  an  independent  concert  society.  In  such  a  capacity  it 
would  have  been  their  task  to  present  to  the  people  of  Dresden, 
in  the  best  possible  way,  a  kind  of  music  which  they  had 
hitherto  hardly  had  the  opportunity  of  enjoying  at  all.  I 
would  have  been  possible  for  such  a  union,  which,  as  I  pointed 
out,  had  so  many  external  circumstances  in  its  favour,  to 
provide  Dresden  with  a  suitable  concert-hall.  I  hear,  however, 
that  such  a  place  is  wanting  to  this  day. 

With  this  object  in  view  I  entered  into  close  communication 
with  architects  and  builders,  and  the  plans  were  completed, 
according  to  which  the  scandalous  buildings  facing  a  wing  of  the 
renowned  prison  opposite  the  Ostra  Alice,  and  consisting  of 
a  shed  for  the  members  of  the  theatre  and  a  public  wash  house, 
were  to  be  pulled  down  and  replaced  by  a  beautiful  building, 
which,  besides  containing  a  large  concert-hall  adapted  to  our 
requirements,  would  also  have  had  other  large  rooms  which 
could  have  been,  let  out  on  hire  at  a  profit.  The  practicality 
of  these  plans  was  disputed  by  no  one,  as  even  the  administrators 
of  the  orchestra's  widows'  fund  saw  in  them  an  opportunity  for 
the  safe  and  advantageous  laying  out  of  capital ;  yet  they  were 
returned  to  me,  after  long  consideration  on  the  part  of  the 
general  management,  with  thanks  and  an  acknowledgment 
of  my  careful  work,  and  the  curt  reply  that  it  was  thought 
better  for  things  to  remain  as  they  were. 

All  my  proposals  for  meeting  the  useless  waste  and  drain 
upon  our  artistic  capital  by  a  more  methodical  arrangement, 
met  with  the  same  success  in  every  detail  that  I  suggested. 
I  had  also  found  out  by  long  experience  that  every  proposal 
which  had  to  be  discussed  and  decided  upon  in  the  most  tiring 
committee  meetings,  as  for  instance  the  starting  of  a  reper- 
toire, might  at  any  moment  be  overthrown  and  altered  for  the, 
worse  by  the  temper  of  a  singer  or  the  plan  of  a  junior  business 
inspector.  I  was  therefore  driven  to  renounce  my  wasted 
efforts  and,  after  many  a  stormy  discussion  and  outspoken 
expression  of  my  sentiments,  I  withdrew  from  taking  any 
part  whatever  in  any  branch  of  the  management,  and  limited 
myself  entirely  to  holding  rehearsals  and  conducting  perform- 
ances of  the  operas  provided  for  me. 


WORK    ON   LOHENGRIN  415 

Although  my  relations  with  Liittichau  grew  more  and  more 
strained  on  this  account,  for  the  time  being  it  mattered  little 
whether  my  conduct  pleased  him  or  not,  as  otherwise  my  posi- 
tion was  one  which  commanded  respect,  on  account  of  the 
ever-increasing  popularity  of  Tannhduser  and  Rienzi,  which 
were  presented  during  the  summer  to  houses  packed  with  dis- 
tinguished visitors,  and  were  invariably  chosen  for  the  gala 
performances. 

By  thus  going  my  own  way  and  refusing  to  be  interfered 
with,  I  succeeded  this  summer,  amid  the  delightful  and  per- 
fect seclusion  of  my  new  home,  in  preserving  myself  in  a  frame 
of  mind  exceedingly  favourable  to  the  completion  of  my  Lohen- 
grin. My  studies,  which,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  I  pur- 
sued eagerly  at  the  same  time  as  I  was  working  on  my  opera, 
made  me  feel  more  light-hearted  than  I  had  ever  done  before. 
For  the  first  time  I  now  mastered  ^Eschylus  with  real  feeling 
and  understanding.  Droysen's  eloquent  commentaries  in  par- 
ticular helped  to  bring  before  my  imagination  the  intoxicating 
effect  of  the  production  of  an  Athenian  tragedy,  so  that  I 
could  see  the  Oresteia  with  my -mind's  eye,  as  though  it  were 
actually  being  performed,  and  its  effect  upon  me  was  inde- 
scribable. Nothing,  however,  could  equal  the  sublime  emotion 
with  which  the  Agamemnon  trilogy  inspired  me,  and  to  the 
last  word  of  the  Eumenides  I  lived  in  an  atmosphere  so  far 
removed  from  the  present  day  that  I  have  never  since  been 
really  able  to  reconcile  myself  with  modern  literature.  My 
ideas  about  the  whole  significance  of  the  drama  and  of  the 
theatre  were,  without  a  doubt,  moulded  by  these  impressions. 
I  worked  my  way  through  the  other  tragedians,  and  finally 
reached  Aristophanes.  When  I  had  spent  the  morning  indus- 
triously upon  the  completion  of  the  music  for  Lohengrin,  I 
used  to  creep  into  the  depths  of  a  thick  shrubbery  in  my  part 
of  the  garden  to  get  shelter  from  the  summer  heat,  which  was 
becoming  more  intense  every  day.  My  delight  in  the  comedies 
of  Aristophanes  was  boundless,  when  once  his  Birds  had 
plunged  me  into  the  full  torrent  of  the  genius  of  this  wanton 
favourite  of  the  Graces,  as  he  used  to  call  himself  with  conscious 
daring.  Side  by  side  with  this  poet  I  read  the  principal  dia- 
logues of  Plato,  and  from  the  Symposium  I  gained  such  a 


416  MY   LIFE 

insight  into  the  wonderful  beauty  of  Greek  life  that  I  felt 
myself  more  truly  at  home  in  ancient  Athens  than  in  any 
conditions  which  the  modern  world  has  to  offer. 

As  I  was  following  out  a  settled  course  of  self-education, 
I  did  not  wish  to  pursue  my  way  further  in  the  leading-strings 
of  any  literary  history,  and  I  consequently  turned  my  attention 
from  the  historical  studies,  which  seemed  to  be  my  own  peculiar 
province,  and  in  which  department  Droysen's  history  of 
Alexander  and  the  Hellenistic  period,  as  well  as  Niebuhr  and 
Gibbon,  were  of  great  help  to  me,  and  fell  back  once  more 
upon  my  old  and  trusty  guide,  Jakob  Grimm,  for  the  study 
of  German  aniquity.  In  my  efforts  to  master  the  myths  of 
Germany  more  thoroughly  than  had  been  possible  in  my  former 
perusal  of  the  Nibelung  and  the  Heldenbuch,  Mone's  particu- 
larly suggestive  commentary  on  this  Heldensage  filled  me  with 
delight,  although  stricter  scholars  regarded  this  work  with  sus- 
picion on  account  of  the  boldness  of  some  of  its  statements. 
By  this  means  I  was  drawn  irresistibly  to  the  northern  sagas; 
and  I  now  tried,  as  far  as  was  possible  without  a  fluent  knowl- 
edge of  the  Scandinavian  languages,  to  acquaint  myself  with 
the  Edda,  as  well  as  with  the  prose  version  which  existed  of  a 
considerable  portion  of  the  Heldensage. 

Read  by  the  light  of  Mone's  Commentaries,  the  Wolsungasaga 
had  a  decided  influence  upon  my  method  of  handling  this  ma- 
terial. My  conceptions  as  to  the  inner  significance  of  these 
old-world  legends,  which  had  been  growing  for  a  long  time, 
gradually  gained  strength  and  moulded  themselves  with  the 
plastic  forms  which  inspired  my  later  works. 

All  this  was  sinking  into  my  mind  and  slowly  maturing, 
whilst  with  unfeigned  delight  I  was  finishing  the  music  of  the 
first  two  acts  of  Lohengrin,  which  were  now  at  last  completed. 
I  now  succeeded  in  shutting  out  the  past  and  building  up  for 
myself  a  new  world  of  the  future,  which  presented  itself  with 
ever-growing  clearness  to  my  mind  as  the  refuge  whither  I 
might  retreat  from  all  the  miseries  of  modern  opera  and  theatre 
life.  At  the  same  time,  my  health  and  temper  were  settling 
down  into  a  mood  of  almost  unclouded  serenity,  which  made 
me  oblivious  for  a  long  time  of  all  the  worries  of  my  position. 
I  used  to  walk  every  day  up  into  the  neighbouring  hills,  which 


LOHENGRIN   COMPLETED  417 

rose  from  the  banks  of  the  Elbe  to  the  Plauenscher  Grand. 
I  generally  went  alone,  except  for  the  company  of  our  little 
dog  Peps,  and  my  excursions  always  resulted  in  producing 
a  satisfactory  number  of  ideas.  At  the  same  time,  I  found  I 
had  developed  a  capacity,  which  I  had  never  possessed  before, 
for  good-tempered  intercourse  with  the  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances who  liked  to  come  from  time  to  time  to  the  Marcolini 
garden  to  share  my  simple  supper.  My  visitors  used  often  to 
find  me  perched  on  a  high  branch  of  a  tree,  or  on  the  neck  of 
the  Neptune  which  was  the  central  figure  of  a  large  group  of 
statuary  in  the  middle  of  an  old  fountain,  unfortunately  always 
dry,  belonging  to  the  palmy  days  of  the  Marcolini  estate.  I 
used  to  enjoy  walking  with  my  friends  up  and  down  the  broad 
footpath  of  the  drive  leading  to  the  real  palace,  which  had 
been  laid  especially  for  Napoleon  in  the  fatal  year  1813,  when 
he  had  fixed  his  headquarters  there. 

By  August,  the  last  month  of  summer,  I  had  completely 
finished  the  composition  of  Lohengrin,  and  felt  that  it  was 
high  time  for  me  to  have  done  so,  as  the  needs  of  my  position 
demanded  imperatively  that  I  should  give  my  most  serious 
attention  to  improving  it,  and  it  became  a  matter  of  supreme 
importance  for  me  once  more  to  take  steps  for  having  my  operas 
produced  in  the  German  theatres. 

Even  the  success  of  Tannhduser  in  Dresden,  which  became 
more  obvious  every  day,  did  not  attract  the  smallest  notice 
anywhere  else.  Berlin  was  the  only  place  which  had  any 
influence  in  the  theatrical  world  of  Germany,  and  I  ought  long 
before  to  have  given  my  undivided  attention  to  that  city. 
From  all  I  had  heard  of  the  special  tastes  of  Friedrich 
Wilhelm  IV.,  I  felt  perfectly  justified  in  assuming  that  he 
would  feel  sympathetically  inclined  towards  my  later  works  and 
conceptions  if  I  could  only  manage  to  bring  them  to  his  notice 
in  the  right  light.  On  this  hypothesis  I  had  already  thought 
of  dedicating  Tannhduser  to  him,  and  to  gain  permission  to  do 
so  I  had  to  apply  to  Count  Redern,  the  court  musical  director. 
From  him  I  heard  that  the  King  could  only  accept  the  dedi- 
cation of  works  which  had  actually  been  performed  in  his 
presence,  and  of  which  he  thus  had  a  personal  knowledge. 
As  my  Tannhduser  had  been  refused  by  the  managers  of  the 


418  MY   LIFE 

court  theatre  because  it  was  considered  too  epic  in  form,  the 
Count  added  that  if  I  wished  to  remain  firm  in  my  resolve, 
there  was  only  one  way  out  of  the  difficulty,  and  that  was  to 
adapt  my  opera  as  far  as  possible  to  a  military  band,  and  try 
to  bring  it  to  the  King's  notice  on  parade.  This  drove  me  to 
determine  upon  another  plan  of  attack  on  Berlin. 

After  this  experience  I  saw  that  I  must  open  my  campaign 
there  with  the  opera  that  had  won  the  most  decided  triumph 
in  Dresden.  I  therefore  obtained  an  audience  of  the  Queen 
of  Saxony,  the  sister  of  the  King  of  Prussia,  and  begged  her 
to  use  her  influence  with  her  brother  to  obtain  a  performance 
in  Berlin  by  royal  command  of  my  Rienzi,  which  was  also 
a  favourite  with  the  court  of  Saxony.  This  manoeuvre  was 
successful,  and  I  soon  received  a  communication  from  my  old 
friend  Kiistner  to  say  that  the  production  of  Rienzi  was  fixed 
for  a  very  early  date  at  the  Berlin  Court  Theatre,  and  at  the 
same  time  expressing  the  hope  that  I  would  conduct  my  work 
in  person.  As  a  very  handsome  author's  royalty  had  been 
paid  by  this  theatre,  at  the  instigation  of  Kiistner,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  production  of  his  old  Munich  friend  Lachner's 
opera,  Katharina  von  Cornaro,  I  hoped  to  realise  a  very  sub- 
stantial improvement  in  my  finances  if  only  the  success  of 
Rienzi  in  this  city  in  any  degree  rivalled  that  in  Dresden.  But 
my  chief  desire  was  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  King  of 
Prussia,  so  that  I  might  read  him  the  text  of  my  Lohengrin, 
and  arouse  his  interest  in  my  work.  This  from  various  signs 
I  flattered  myself  was  perfectly  possible,  in  which  case  I  in- 
tended to  beg  him  to  command  the  first  performance  of 
Lohengrin  to  be  given  at  his  court  theatre. 

After  my  strange  experiences  as  to  the  way  in  which  my 
success  in  Dresden  had  been  kept  secret  from  the  rest  of  Ger- 
many, it  seemed  to  me  a  matter  of  vital  importance  to  make 
the  future  centre  of  my  artistic  enterprises  the  only  place 
which  exercised  any  influence  on  the  outside  world,  and  as 
such  I  was  forced  to  regard  Berlin.  Inspired  by  the  success 
of  my  recommendation  to  the  Queen  of  Prussia,  I  hoped  to  gain 
access  to  the  King  himself,  which  I  regarded  as  a  most  im- 
portant step.  Full  of  confidence,  and  in  excellent  spirits,  I  set 
out  for  Berlin  in  September,  trusting  to  a  favourable  turn  of 


BERLIN  419 

Fortune's  wheel,  in  the  first  place  for  the  rehearsals  of  Rienzi, 
though  my  interests  were  no  longer  centred  in  this  work. 

Berlin  made  the  same  impression  on  me  as  on  the  occasion 
of  my  former  visit,  when  I  saw  it  again  after  my  long  absence 
in  Paris.  Professor  Werder,  my  friend  of  the  Fliegender 
Hollander,  had  taken  lodgings  for  me  in  advance  in  the  re- 
nowned Gensdarmeplatz,  but  when  I  looked  at  the  view  from  my 
windows  every  day  I  could  not  believe  that  I  was  in  a  city  which 
was  the  very  centre  of  Germany.  Soon,  however,  I  was  com- 
pletely absorbed  by  the  cares  of  the  task  I  had  in  hand. 

I  had  nothing  to  complain  of  with  regard  to  the  official  pre- 
parations for  Rienzi,  but  I  soon  noticed  that  it  was  looked 
upon  merely  as  a  conductor's  opera,  that  is  to  say,  all  the 
materials  to  hand  were  duly  placed  at  my  disposal,  but  the 
management  had  not  the  slightest  intention  of  doing  anything 
more  for  me.  All  the  arrangements  for  my  rehearsals  were 
entirely  upset  as  soon  as  a  visit  from  Jenny  Lind  was  announced, 
and  she  occupied  the  Royal  Opera  exclusively  for  some  time. 

During  the  delay  thus  caused  I  did  all  I  could  to  attain  my 
main  object  —  an  introduction  to  the  King  —  and  for  this  pur- 
pose made  use  of  my  former  acquaintance  with  the  court  musical 
director,  Count  Redern.  This  gentleman  received  me  at  once 
with  the  greatest  affability,  invited  me  to  dinner  and  a  soiree, 
and  entered  into  a  hearty  discussion  with  me  about  the  steps 
necessary  for  attaining  my  purpose,  in  which  he  promised  to 
do  his  utmost  to  help  me.  I  also  paid  frequent  visits  to  Sans- 
Souci,  in  order  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  Queen  and  express 
my  thanks  to  her.  But  I  never  got  further  than  an  interview 
with  the  ladies-in-waiting,  and  I  was  advised  to  put  myself 
into  communication  with  M.  Illaire,  the  head  of  the  Royal 
Privy  Council.  This  gentleman  seemed  to  be  impressed  by 
the  seriousness  of  my  request,  and  promised  to  do  what  he 
could  to  further  my  wish  for  a  personal  introduction  to  the 
King.  He  asked  what  my  real  object  was,  and  I  told  him  it 
was  to  get  permission  from  the  King  to  read  my  libretto 
Lohengrin  to  him.  On  the  occasion  of  one  of  my  oft-repeated 
visits  from  Berlin,  he  asked  me  whether  I  did  not  think  it 
would  be  advisable  to  bring  a  recommendation  of  my  work 
from  Tieck.  I  was  able  to  tell  him  that  I  had  already  had  the 


420  MY   LIFE 

pleasure  of  bringing  my  case  to  the  notice  of  the  old  poet,  who 
lived  near  Potsdam  as  a  royal  pensioner. 

I  remembered  very  well  that  Frau  von  Liittichau  had  sent 
the  themes  Lohengrin  and  Tannh'duser  to  her  old  friend  some 
years  ago,  when  these  matters  were  first  mentioned  between 
us.  When  I  called  upon  Tieck,  I  was  welcomed  by  him  almost 
as  a  friend,  and  I  found  my  long  talks  with  him  exceedingly 
valuable.  Although  Tieck  had  perhaps  gained  a  somewhat 
doubtful  reputation  for  the  leniency  with  which  he  would  give 
his  recommendation  for  the  dramatic  works  of  those  who  applied 
to  him,  yet  I  was  pleased  by  the  genuine  disgust  with  which 
he  spoke  of  our  latest  dramatic  literature,  which  was  modelling 
itself  on  the  style  of  modern  French  stagecraft,  and  his  com- 
plaint at  the  utter  lack  of  any  true  poetic  feeling  in  it  was 
heartfelt  He  declared  himself  delighted  with  my  poem  of 
Lohengrin,  but  could  not  understand  how  all  this  was  to  be 
set  to  music  without  a  complete  change  in  the  conventional 
structure  of  an  opera,  and  on  this  score  he  objected  to  such 
scenes  as  that  between  Ortrud  and  Frederick  at  the  beginning 
of  the  second  act.  I  thought  I  had  roused  him  to  a  real 
enthusiasm  when  I  explained  how  I  proposed  to  solve  these 
apparent  difficulties,  and  also  described  my  own  ideals  about 
musical  drama.  But  the  higher  I  soared  the  sadder  he  grew 
when  I  had  once  made  known  to  him  my  hope  of  securing  the 
patronage  of  the  King  of  Prussia  for  these  conceptions,  and  the 
working  out  of  my  scheme  for  an  ideal  drama.  He  had  no 
doubt  that  the  King  would  listen  to  me  with  the  greatest 
interest,  and  even  seize  upon  my  ideas  with  warmth,  only  I 
must  not  entertain  the  smallest  hope  of  any  practical  result, 
unless  I  wished  to  expose  myself  to  the  bitterest  disappoint- 
ment. '  What  can  you  expect  from  a  man  who  to-day  is 
enthusiastic  about  Gluck's  Iphigenia  in  Tauris,  and  to-morrow 
mad  about  Donizetti's  Lucrezia  Borgia? '  he  said.  Tieck's 
conversation  about  these  and  similar  topics  was  much  too 
entertaining  and  charming  for  me  to  give  any  serious  weight 
to  the  bitterness  of  his  views.  He  gladly  promised  to  recom- 
mend my  poem,  more  particularly  to  Privy  Councillor  Illaire, 
and  dismissed  me  with  hearty  goodwill  and  his  sincere  though 
anxious  blessing. 


RIENZI    UNSUCCESSFUL   IN   BERLIN       421 

The  only  result  of  all  my  labours  was  that  the  desired 
invitation  from  the  King  still  hung  fire.  As  the  rehearsals 
for  Rienteif  which  had  been  postponed  on  account  of  Jenny 
Lind's  visit,  were  being  carried  on  seriously  again,  I  made  up 
my  mind  to  take  no  further  trouble  before  the  performance  of 
my  opera,  as  I  thought  myself,  at  any  rate,  justified  in  counting 
on  the  presence  of  the  monarch  on  the  first  night,  as  the  piece 
was  being  played  at  his  express  command,  and  at  the  same  time 
I  hoped  this  would  conduce  to  the  fulfilment  of  my  main  object 
However,  the  nearer  we  came  to  the  event  the  lower  did  the 
hopes  I  had  built  upon  it  sink.  To  play  the  part  of  the  hero 
I  had  to  be  satisfied  with  a  tenor  who  was  absolutely  devoid 
of  talent,  and  far  below  the  average.  He  was  a  conscientious, 
painstaking  man,  and  had  moreover  been  strongly  recommended 
to  me  by  my  kind  host,  the  renowned  Meinhard.  After  I  had 
taken  infinite  pains  with  him,  and  had  in  consequence,  as  so 
often  happens,  conjured  up  in  my  mind  certain  illusions  as 
to  what  I  might  expect  from  his  acting,  I  was  obliged,  when 
it  came  to  the  final  test  of  the  dress  rehearsal,  to  confess  my 
true  opinion.  I  realised  that  the  scenery,  chorus,  ballet,  and 
minor  parts  were  on  the  whole  excellent,  but  that  the  chief 
character,  around  whom  in  this  particular  opera  everything 
centred,  faded  into  an  insignificant  phantom.  The  reception 
which  this  opera  met  with  at  the  hands  of  the  public  when  it 
was  produced  in  October  was  also  due  to  him;  but  in  conse- 
quence of  the  fairly  good  rendering  of  a  few  brilliant  passages, 
and  more  especially  on  account  of  the  enthusiastic  recognition 
of  Frau  Koster  in  the  part  of  Adriano,  it  might  have  been 
concluded  from  all  the  external  signs  that  the  opera  had  been 
fairly  successful.  Nevertheless,  I  knew  very  well  that  this 
seeming  triumph  could  have  no  real  substance,  as  only  the 
immaterial  parts  of  my  work  could  reach  the  eyes  and  ears  of 
;he  audience;  its  essential  spirit  had  not  entered  their  hearts. 
Moreover,  the  Berlin  reviewers  in  their  usual  way  began  their 
attacks  immediately,  with  the  view  of  demolishing  any  success 
my  opera  might  have  won,  so  that  after  the  second  performance, 
which  I  also  conducted  myself,  I  began  to  wonder  whether  my 
desperate  labours  were  really  worth  while. 

When  I  asked  the  few  intimate  friends  I  had  their  opinion  on 


422  MY   LIFE 

this  point,  I  elicited  much  valuable  information.  Among  these 
friends  I  must  mention,  in  the  first  place,  Hermann  Franck, 
whom  I  found  again.  He  had  lately  settled  in  Berlin,  and  did 
much  to  encourage  me.  I  spent  the  most  enjoyable  part  of 
those  sad  two  months  in  his  company,  of  which,  however,  I 
had  but  too  little.  Our  conversation  generally  turned  upon 
reminiscences  of  the  old  days,  and  on  to  topics  which  had  no 
connection  with  the  theatre,  so  that  I  was  almost  ashamed  to 
trouble  him  with  my  complaints  on  this  subject,  especially  as 
they  concerned  my  worries  about  a  work  which  I  could  not 
pretend  was  of  any  practical  importance  to  the  stage.  He  for 
his  part  soon  arrived  at  the  conclusion  that  it  had  been  foolish 
of  me  to  choose  my  Rienzi  for  this  occasion,  as  it  was  an  opera 
which  appealed  merely  to  the  general  public,  in  preference  to 
my  Tannhauser,  which  might  have  educated  a  party  in  Berlin 
useful  to  my  higher  aims.  He  maintained  that  the  very  nature 
of  this  work  would  have  aroused  a  fresh  interest  in  the  drama 
in  the  minds  of  people  who,  like  himself,  were  no  longer  to 
be  counted  among  regular  theatre-goers,  precisely  because  they 
had  given  up  all  hope  of  ever  finding  any  nobler  ideals  of  the 
stage. 

The  curious  information  as  to  the  character  of  Berlin  art 
in  other  respects,  which  Werder  gave  me  from  time  to  time, 
was  most  discouraging.  With  regard  to  the  public,  he  told 
me  once  that  at  a  performance  of  an  unknown  work,  it  was 
quite  useless  for  me  to  expect  a  single  member  of  the  audience 
from  the  stalls  to  the  gallery  to  take  his  seat  with  any  better 
object  in  view  than  to  pick  as  many  holes  as  possible  in  the 
production.  Although  Werder  did  not  wish  to  discourage  me 
in  any  of  my  endeavours,  he  felt  himself  obliged  to  warn  me 
continually  not  to  expect  anything  above  the  average  from 
the  cultured  society  of  Berlin.  He  liked  to  see  proper  respect 
paid  to  the  really  considerable  gifts  of  the  King;  and  when 
I  asked  him  how  he  thought  the  latter  would  receive  my  ideas 
about  the  ennobling  of  opera,  he  answered,  after  having  listened 
attentively  to  a  long  and  fiery  tirade  on  my  part :  '  The  King 
would  say  to  you,  "  Go  and  consult  Stawinsky !  "  This  was 
the  opera  manager,  a  fat,  smug  creature  who  had  grown  rusty 
in  following  out  the  most  jog-trot  routine.  In  short,  every- 


COUNTESS    ROSSI  423 

thing  I  learned  was  calculated  to  discourage  me.  I  called  on 
Bernhard  Marx,  who  some  years  ago  had  shown  a  kindly  in- 
terest in  my  Fliegender  Hollander,  and  was  courteously  received 
by  him.  This  man,  who  in  his  earlier  writings  and  musical 
criticisms  had  seemed  to  me  filled  with  a  fire  of  energy,  now 
struck  me  as  extraordinarily  limp  and  listless  when  I  saw  him 
by  the  side  of  his  young  wife,  who  was  radiantly  and  bewitch- 
ingly  beautiful.  From  his  conversation  I  soon  learned  that  he 
also  had  abandoned  even  the  remotest  hope  of  success  for 
any  efforts  directed  towards  the  object  so  dear  to  both  our 
hearts,  on  account  of  the  inconceivable  shallowness  of  all  the 
officials  connected  with  the  head  authority.  He  told  me  of 
the  extraordinary  fate  which  had  befallen  a  scheme  he  had 
brought  to  the  notice  of  the  King  for  founding  a  school  of 
music.  In  a  special  audience  the  King  had  gone  into  the 
matter  with  the  greatest  interest,  and  noticed  the  minutest 
detail,  so  that  Marx  felt  justified  in  entertaining  the  strongest 
possible  hopes  of  success.  However,  all  his  labours  and  negoti- 
ations about  the  business,  in  the  course  of  which  he  was  driven 
from  pillar  to  post,  proved  utterly  futile,  until  at  last  he  was 
told  to  have  an  interview  with  a  certain  general.  This  per- 
sonage, like  the  King,  had  Marx's  proposals  explained  to  him  in 
the  minutest  detail,  and  expressed  his  warmest  sympathy  with 
the  undertaking.  '  And  there,'  said  Marx,  at  the  end  of  this 
long  rigmarole,  '  the  matter  ended,  and  I  never  heard  another 
word  about  it.' 

One  day  I  learned  that  Countess  Rossi,  the  renowned 
Henriette  Sontag,  who  was  living  in  quiet  seclusion  in  Berlin, 
had  pleasant  recollections  of  me  in  Dresden,  and  wished  me  to 
visit  her.  She  had  at  this  time  already  fallen  into  the  un- 
fortunate position  which  was  so  detrimental  to  her  artistic 
career.  She  too  complained  bitterly  of  the  general  apathy  of 
the  influential  classes  in  Berlin,  which  effectually  prevented 
any  artistic  aims  from  being  realised.  It  was  her  opinion  that 
the  King  found  a  sort  of  satisfaction  in  knowing  that  the  theatre 
was  badly  managed,  for  though  he  never  opposed  any  criticisms 
which  he  received  on  the  subject,  he  likewise  never  supported 
any  proposal  for  its  improvement.  She  expressed  a  wish  to 
know  something  of  my  latest  work,  and  I  gave  her  my  poem  of 


424  MY   LIFE 

Lohengrin  for  perusal.  On  the  occasion  of  my  next  morning 
call  she  told  me  she  would  send  me  an  invitation  to  a  musical 
evening  which  she  was  going  to  have  at  her  house  in  honour 
of  the  Grand  Duke  of  Mecklenburg-Strelitz,  her  elderly  patron, 
and  she  also  gave  me  back  the  manuscript  of  Lohengrin,  with 
the  assurance  that  it  had  appealed  to  her  very  much,  and  that 
while  she  was  reading  it  she  had  often  seen  the  little  fairies 
and  elves  dancing  about  in  front  of  her.  As  in  the  old  days 
I  had  been  heartily  encouraged  by  the  warm  and  friendly 
sympathy  of  this  naturally  cultured  woman,  I  now  felt  as  if 
cold  water  had  been  suddenly  poured  down  my  back.  I  soon 
took  my  leave,  and  never  saw  her  again.  Indeed,  I  had  no  par- 
ticular object  in  doing  so,  as  the  promised  invitation  never 
came.  Herr  E.  Kossak  also  sought  me  out,  and  although  our 
acquaintance  did  not  lead  to  much,  I  was  sufficiently  kindly 
received  by  him  to  give  him  my  poem  of  Lohengrin  to  read.  I 
went  one  day  by  appointment  to  see  him,  and  found  that  his 
room  had  just  been  scrubbed  with  boiling  water.  The  steam 
from  this  operation  was  so  unbearable  that  it  had  already  given 
him  a  headache,  and  was  not  less  disagreeable  to  me.  He 
looked  into  my  face  with  an  almost  tender  expression  when  he 
gave  me  back  the  manuscript  of  my  poem,  and  assured  me, 
in  accents  which  admitted  of  no  doubt  of  his  sincerity,  that 
he  thought  it  '  very  pretty.' 

I  found  my  casual  intercourse  with  H.  Truhn  rather  more 
entertaining.  I  used  to  treat  him  to  a  good  glass  of  wine  at 
Lutter  and  Wegener's,  where  I  went  occasionally  on  account  of 
its  association  with  Hoffmann,  and  he  would  then  listen  with 
apparently  growing  interest  to  my  ideas  as  to  the  possible 
development  of  opera  and  the  goal  at  which  we  should  aim. 
His  comments  were  generally  witty  and  very  much  to  the  point, 
and  his  lively  and  animated  ways  pleased  me  very  much. 
After  the  production  of  Rienzi,  however,  he  too,  as  a  critic, 
joined  the  majority  of  scoffers  and  detractors.  The  only 
person  who  supported  me  stoutly  but  uselessly,  through  thick 
and  thin,  was  my  old  friend  Gaillard.  His  little  music-shop 
was  not  a  success,  his  musical  journal  had  already  failed,  so 
that  he  was  only  able  to  help  me  in  small  ways.  Unfortunately 
I  discovered  not  only  that  he  was  the  author  of  many  exceedingly 


MEYERBEER   IN    BERLIN  425 

dubious  dramatic  works,  for  which  he  wished  to  gain  my  sup- 
port, but  also  that  he  was  apparently  in  the  last  stages  of  the 
disease  from  which  he  was  suffering,  so  that  the  little  inter- 
course I  had  with  him,  in  spite  of  all  his  fidelity  and  devotion, 
only  exercised  a  melancholy  and  depressing  influence  upon  me. 

But  as  I  had  embarked  upon  this  Berlin  enterprise  in  contra- 
diction to  all  my  inmost  wishes,  and  prompted  solely  by  the 
desire  of  winning  the  success  so  vital  to  my  position,  I  made 
up  my  mind  to  make  a  personal  appeal  to  Rellstab. 

As  in  the  case  of  the  Fliegender  Hollander  he  had  taken  ex- 
ception more  particularly  to  its  ( nebulousness '  and  '  lack  of 
form/  I  thought  I  might  with  advantage  point  out  to  him  the 
brighter  and  clearer  outline  of  Rienzi.  He  seemed  to  be  pleased 
at  my  thinking  I  could  get  anything  out  of  him,  but  told  me  at 
once-o-f -his  firm  conviction  that  any  new  art  form  was  utterly 
impossible  after  Gluck,  and  that  the  only  thing  that  the  best  9f 
good  luok  and  hard  work  was  capable  of  producing  was  mean- 
ingless bombasL  I  then  realised  that  in  Berlin  all  hope  had 
been  abandoned.  I  was  told  that  Meyerbeer  was  the  only  man 
who  had  been  able  in  any  way  to  master  the  situation. 

This  former  patron  of  mine  I  met  once  more  in  Berlin,  and 
he  declared  that  he  still  took  an  interest  in  me.  As  soon  as 
I  arrived  I  called  on  him,  but  in  the  hall  I  found  his  servant 
busy  packing  up  trunks,  and  learned  that  Meyerbeer  was  just 
going  away.  His  master  confirmed  this  assertion,  and  regretted 
that  he  would  not  be  able  to  do  anything  for  me,  so  I  had  to 
say  good-bye  and  how-do-you-do  at  the  same  time.  For  some 
time  I  thought  he  really  was  away,  but  after  a  few  weeks 
I  learned  to  my  surprise  that  he  was  still  staying  in  Berlin 
without  letting  himself  be  seen  by  any  one,  and  at  last  he 
made  his  appearance  again  at  one  of  the  rehearsals  of  Rienzi. 
What  this  meant  I  only  discovered  later  from  a  rumour  which 
was  circulated  among  the  initiated,  and  imparted  to  me  by 
Eduard  von  Billow,  my  young  friend's  father.  Without  having 
the  slightest  idea  how  it  originated,  I  learned,  about  the  middle 
of  my  stay  in  Berlin,  from  the  conductor  Taubert,  that  he  had 
heard  on  very  good  authority  that  I  was  trying  for  a  director's 
post  at  the  court  theatre,  and  had  good  expectations  of  se- 
curing the  appointment  in  addition  to  special  privileges.  In 


426  MY   LIFE 

order  to  remain  on  good  terms  with  Taubert,  as  it  was  very 
necessary  for  me  to  do,  I  had  to  give  him  the  most  solemn 
assurances  that  such  an  idea  had  never  even  entered  my  head, 
and  that  I  would  not  accept  such  a  position  if  it  were  offered 
to  me.  On  the  other  hand,  all  my  endeavours  to  get  access  to 
the  King  continued  to  be  fruitless.  My  chief  mediator,  to 
whom  I  always  turned,  was  still  Count  Redern,  and  although 
my  attention  had  been  called  to  his  staunch  adherence  to 
Meyerbeer,  his  extraordinary  open  and  friendly  manner  always 
strengthened  my  belief  in  his  honesty.  At  last  the  only 
medium  that  remained  open  to  me  was  the  fact  that  the  King 
could  not  possibly  stay  away  from  the  performance  of  Rienzi, 
given  at  his  express  command,  and  on  this  conviction  I  based 
all  further  hope  of  approaching  him.  Whereupon  Count 
Redern  informed  me,  with  an  expression  of  deep  despair,  that 
on  the  very  day  of  the  first  performance  the  monarch  would 
be  away  on  a  hunting  party.  Once  more  I  begged  him  to 
make  very  effort  in  his  power  to  secure  the  King's  presence, 
at  least  at  the  second  performance,  and  at  length  my  inex- 
haustible patron  told  me  that  he  could  not  make  head  or  tail 
of  it,  but  his  Majesty  seemed  to  have  conceived  an  utter  dis- 
inclination to  accede  to  my  wish;  he  himself  had  heard  these 
hard  words  fall  from  the  royal  lips :  '  Oh  bother !  have  you 
come  to  me  again  with  your  Rienzi  ? ' 

At  this  second  performance  I  had  a  pleasant  experience. 
After  the  impressive  second  act  the  public  showed  signs  of 
wishing  to  call  me,  and  as  I  went  from  the  orchestra  to  the 
vestibule,  in  order  to  be  ready  if  necessary,  my  foot  slipped 
on  the  smooth  parquet,  and  I  might  have  had  perhaps  a  serious 
fall  had  I  not  felt  my  arm  prasped  by  a  strong  hand.  I  turned, 
and  recognised  the  Crown  Prince  of  Prussia,1  who  had  come  out 
of  his  box,  and  who  at  once  seized  the  opportunity  of  inviting 
me  to  follow  him  to  his  wife,  who  wished  to  make  my  acquaint- 
ance. She  had  only  just  arrived  in  Berlin,  and  told  me  that 
she  had  heard  my  opera  for  the  first  time  that  evening,  and 

1  This  Prince  subsequently  became  the  Emperor  William  the  First.  He  was 
given  the  title  of  Crown  Prince  in  1840  on  the  death  of  his  father,  Frederick 
William  III.,  as  he  was  then  heir-presumptive  to  his  brother,  Frederick  William 
IV.,  whose  marriage  was  without  issue.  —  EDITOR. 


SAD   DEPARTURE    FROM   BERLIN  427 

expressed  her  appreciation  of  it  She  had,  however,  long  ago 
received  very  favourable  reports  of  me  and  my  artistic  aims 
from  a  common  friend,  Alwine  Frommann.  The  whole  tenor 
of  this  interview,  at  which  the  Prince  was  present,  was  un- 
usually friendly  and  pleasant. 

It  was  indeed  my  old  friend  Alwine  who  in  Berlin  had  not 
only  followed  all  my  fortunes  with  the  greatest  sympathy, 
but  had  also  done  all  in  her  power  to  give  me  consolation  and  ' 
courage  to  endure.  Almost  every  evening,  when  the  day's  *  JL 
business  made  it  possible,  I  used  to  visit  her  for  an  hour  of  \ 
recreation,  and  gain  strength  from  her  ennobling  conversation  \(A^ 
for  the  struggle  against  the  reverses  of  the  following  day.  I  \ 
was  particularly  pleased  by  the  warm  and  intelligent  sympathy 
which  she  and  our  mutual  friend  Werder  devoted  to  Lohengrin, 
the  object  of  all  my  labours  at  that  time.  On  the  arrival  of 
her  friend  and  patroness,  the  Crown  Princess^  wrhich  had  been 
delayed  till  now,  she  hoped  to  hear  something  more  definite 
as  to  how  my  affairs  stood  with  the  King,  although  she  inti- 
mated to  me  that  even  this  great  lady  was  in  deep  disfavour, 
and  could  only  bring  her  influence  to  bear  upon  the  King  by 
observing  the  strictest  etiquette.  But  from  this  source  also 
no  news  reached  me  till  it  was  time  for  me  to  leave  Berlin 
and  I  could  postpone  my  departure  no  longer. 

As  I  had  to  conduct  a  third  performance  of  Rienzi,  and 
there  still  remained  a  remote  possibility  of  receiving  a  sudden 
command  to  Sans-Souci,  I  accordingly  fixed  on  a  date  which 
would  be  the  very  latest  I  could  wait  to  ascertain  the  fate  of 
the  projects  I  had  nearest  to  heart.  This  period  passed  by, 
and  I  was  forced  to  realise  that  my  hopes  of  Berlin  were  wholly 
shattered. 

I  was  in  a  very  depressed  state  when  I  made  up  my  mind 
to  this  conclusion.  I  can  seldom  remember  having  been  so 
dreadfully  affected  by  the  influence  of  cold  and  wet  weather 
and  an  eternally  grey  sky  as  during  those  last  wretched  weeks 
in  Berlin,  when  everything  that  I  heard,  in  addition  to  my 
own  private  anxieties,  weighed  upon  me  with  a  leaden  weight 
of  discouragement. 

My  conversations  with  Hermann  Franck  about  the  social 
and  political  situation  had  assumed  a  peculiarly  gloomy  tone, 


428  MY   LIFE 

as  the  King  of  Prussia's  efforts  to  summon  a  united  conference 
had  failed.  I  was  among  those  who  had  at  first  been  inclined 
to  see  a  hopeful  significance  in  this  undertaking,  but  it  was  a 
shock  to  have  all  the  intimate  details  relating  to  the  project 
clearly  set  before  me  by  so  well  informed  a  man  as  Franck. 
His  dispassionate  views  on  this  subject,  as  well  as  on  the 
Prussian  State  in  particular,  which  was  supposed  to  be  repre- 
sentative of  German  intelligence,  and  was  universally  considered 
to  be  a  model  of  order  and  good  government,  so  completely  dis- 
illusioned me  and  destroyed  all  the  favourable  and  hopeful 
opinions  I  had  formed  of  it,  that  I  felt  as  if  I  had  plunged 
into  chaos,  and  realised  the  utter  futility  of  expecting  a  pros- 
perous settlement  of  the  German  question  from  this  quarter. 
If  in  the  midst  of  my  misery  in  Dresden  I  had  founded  great 
hopes  from  gaining  the  King  of  Prussia's  sympathy  for  my 
ideas,  I  could  no  longer  close  my  eyes  to  the  fearful  hollowness 
which  the  state  of  affairs  disclosed  to  me  on  every  side. 

In  this  despairing  mood  I  felt  but  little  emotion  when,  on 
going  to  say  good-bye  to  Count  Redern,  he  told  me  with  a 
very  sad  face  the  news,  which  had  just  arrived,  of  Mendelssohn's 
death.  I  certainly  did  not  realise  this  stroke  of  fate,  which 
Redern's  obvious  grief  first  brought  to  my  notice.  At  all 
events,  he  was  spared  more  detailed  and  heartfelt  explanation 
of  my  own  affairs,  which  he  had  so  much  at  heart. 

The  only  thing  that  remained  for  me  to  do  in  Berlin  was  to 
try  and  make  my  material  success  balance  my  material  loss. 
For  a  stay  of  two  months,  during  which  my  wife  and  my  sister 
Clara  had  been  with  me,  lured  on  by  the  hope  that  the  pro- 
duction of  Rienzi  in  Berlin  would  be  a  brilliant  success,  I  found 
my  old  friend,  Director  Kiistner,  by  no  means  inclined  to  com- 
pensate me.  From  his  correspondence  with  me  he  could  prove 
up  to  the  hilt  that  legally  he  had  only  expressed  the  desire  for 
my  co-operation  in  studying  Rienzi,  but  had  given  me  no  posi- 
tive invitation.  As  I  was  prevented  by  Count  Redern's  grief 
over  Mendelssohn's  death  from  going  to  him  for  help  in  these 
trivial  private  concerns,  there  was  no  alternative  but  for  me  to 
accept  with  a  good  grace  Kiistner's  beneficence  in  paying  me 
on  the  spot  the  royalties  on  the  three  performances  which  had 
already  taken  place.  The  Dresden  authorities  were  surprised 


RETURN    TO   DRESDEN  429 

when  I  found  myself  obliged  to  beg  an  advance  of  income  from 
them  in  order  to  conclude  this  brilliant  undertaking  in  Berlin. 

As  I  was  travelling  with  my  wife  in  the  most  horrible  (^ 
weather  through  the  deserted  country  on  my  way  home,  I  fell 
into  a  mood  of  the  blackest  despair,  which  I  thought  I  might 
perhaps  survive  once  in  a  lifetime  but  never  again.  Neverthe- 
less, it  amused  me,  as  I  sat  silently  looking  out  of  the  carriage 
into  the  grey  mist,  to  hear  my  wife  enter  into  a  lively  dis- 
cussion with  a  commercial  traveller  who,  in  the  course  of 
friendly  conversation,  had  spoken  in  a  disparaging  way  about 
the  l  new  opera  Rienzi.'  My  wife,  with  great  heat  and  even 
passion,  corrected  various  mistakes  made  by  this  hostile  critic, 
and  to  her  great  satisfaction  made  him  confess  that  he  had 
not  heard  the  opera  himself,  but  had  only  based  his  opinion 
upon  hearsay  and  the  reviews.  Whereupon  my  wife  pointed  out 
to  him  most  earnestly  that  '  he  could  not  possibly  know  whose 
future  he  might  not  injure  by  such  irresponsible  comment.' 

These  were  the  only  cheering  and  consoling  impressions  which 
I  carried  back  with  me  to  Dresden,  where  I  soon  felt  the 
direct  results  of  the  reverses  I  had  suffered  in  Berlin  in  the 
condolences  of  my  acquaintances.  The  papers  had  spread 
abroad  the  news  that  my  opera  had  been  a  dismal  failure. 
The  most  painful  part  of  the  whole  proceeding  was  that  I  had 
to  meet  these  expressions  of  pity  with  a  cheerful  countenance 
and  the  assurance  that  things  were  by  no  means  so  bad  as  had 
been  made  out,  but  that,  on  the  contrary,  I  had  had  many 
pleasant  experiences. 

This  unaccustomed  effort  placed  me  in  a  position  strangely 
similar  to  that  in  which  I  found  Hiller  on  my  return  to  Dresden. 
He  had  given  a  performance  of  his  new  opera,  Conradin  von 
Holienstaufen,  here  just  about  this  time.  He  had  kept  the 
composition  of  this  work  a  secret  from  me,  and  had  hoped  to 
make  a  decided  hit  with  it  after  the  three  performances  which 
took  place  in  my  absence.  Both  the  poet  and  the  composer 
thought  that  in  this  work  they  had  combined  the  tendencies 
and  effects  of  my  Rienzi  with  those  of  my  Tannliduser  in  a 
manner  peculiarly  suited  to  the  Dresden  public.  As  he  was 
just  setting  out  for  Diisseldorf,  where  he  had  been  appointed 
concert-director,  he  commended  his  work  with  great  confidence 


430  MY   LIFE 

to  my  tender  mercies,  and  regretted  not  having  the  power  of 
appointing  me  the  conductor  of  it.  He  acknowledged  that  he 
owed  his  great  success  partly  to  the  wonderfully  happy  render- 
ing of  the  male  part  of  Conradin  by  my  niece  Johanna.  She, 
in  her  turn,  told  me  with  equal  confidence  that  without  her 
Hiller's  opera  would  not  have  had  such  an  extraordinary 
triumph.  I  was  now  really  anxious  to  see  this  fortunate  work 
and  its  wonderful  staging  for  myself;  and  this  I  was  able 
to  do,  as  a  fourth  performance  was  announced  after  Hiller  and 
his  family  had  left  Dresden  for  good.  When  I  entered  the 
theatre  at  the  beginning  of  the  overture  to  take  my  place  in 
the  stalls,  I  was  astonished  to  find  all  the  seats,  with  a  few 
scarcely  noticeable  exceptions,  absolutely  empty.  At  the  other 
end  of  my  row  I  saw  the  poet  who  had  written  the  libretto, 
the  gentle  painter  Reinike.  We  moved,  naturally,  towards  the 
middle  of  the  space  and  discussed  the  strange  position  in  which 
we  found  ourselves.  He  poured  out  melancholy  complaints 
to  me  about  Hiller's  musical  setting  to  his  poetry;  the  secret 
of  the  mistake  which  Hiller  had  made  about  the  success  of 
his  work  he  did  not  explain,  and  was  evidently  very  much 
upset  at  the  conspicuous  failure  of  the  opera.  It  was  from 
another  quarter  that  I  learned  how  it  had  been  possible  for 
Hiller  to  deceive  himself  in  such  an  extraordinary  way.  Frau 
Hiller,  who  was  of  Polish  origin,  had  managed  at  the  frequent 
Polish  gatherings  which  took  place  in  Dresden  to  persuade  a 
large  contingent  of  her  countrymen,  who  were  keen  theatre- 
goers, to  attend  her  husband's  opera.  On  the  first  night  these 
friends,  with  their  usual  enthusiasm,  incited  the  public  to 
applaud,  but  had  themselves  found  so  little  pleasure  in  the 
work  that  they  had  stayed  away  from  the  second  performance, 
which  was  otherwise  badly  attended,  so  that  the  opera  could 
only  be  considered  a  failure.  By  commandeering  all  the  help 
that  could  possibly  be  got  from  the  Poles  by  way  of  applause, 
every  effort  was  made  to  secure  a  third  performance  on  a  Sun- 
day, when  the  theatre  generally  filled  of  its  own  accord.  This 
object  was  achieved,  and  the  Polish  theatre  aristocracy,  with 
the  charity  that  was  habitual  to  them,  fulfilled  their  duty 
towards  the  needy  couple  in  whose  drawing-room  they  had 
often  spent  such  pleasant  evenings. 


APPLICATION   FOE   A   HIGHER   SALARY      431 

Once  more  the  composer  was  called  before  the  curtain,  and 
everything  went  off  well.  Hiller  thereupon  placed  his  confi- 
dence in  the  verdict  on  the  third  performance,  according  to 
which  his  opera  was  an  undoubted  success,  just  as  had  been 
the  case  with  my  Tannhauser.  The  artificiality  of  this  pro- 
ceeding was,  however,  exposed  by  this  fourth  performance, 
at  which  I  was  present,  and  at  which  no  one  was  under  an 
obligation  to  the  departed  composer  to  attend.  Even  my 
niece  was  disgusted  with  it,  and  thought  that  the  best  singer 
in  the  world  could  not  make  a  success  of  such  a  tedious  opera. 
Whilst  we  were  watching  this  miserable  performance  I  man- 
aged to  point  out  to  the  poet  some  weaknesses  and  faults  that 
were  to  be  found  in  the  subject-matter.  The  latter  reported 
my  criticisms  to  Hiller,  whereupon  I  received  a  warm  and 
friendly  letter  from  Diisseldorf,  in  which  Hiller  acknowledged 
the  mistake  he  had  made  in  rejecting  my  advice  on  this  point. 
He  gave  me  plainly  to  understand  that  it  was  not  too  late  to 
alter  the  opera  according  to  my  suggestions;  I  should  thus 
have  had  the  inestimable  benefit  of  having  such  an  obviously 
well-intentioned,  and,  in  its  way,  so  significant,  a  work  in  the 
repertoire,  but  I  never  got  so  far  as  that. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  experienced  the  small  satisfaction  of 
hearing  the  news  that  two  performances  of  my  Rienzi  had 
taken  place  in  Berlin,  for  the  success  of  which  Conductor 
Taubert,  as  he  informed  me  himself,  thought  he  had  won  some 
credit  on  account  of  the  extremely  effective  combinations  he 
had  arranged.  In  spite  of  this,  I  was  absolutely  convinced  that 
I  must  abandon  all  hope  of  any  lasting  and  profitable  success 
from  Berlin,  and  I  could  no  longer  hide  from  Liittichau  that, 
if  I  were  to  continue  in  the  discharge  of  my  duties  with  the 
necessary  good  spirits,  I  must  insist  on  a  rise  of  salary,  as, 
beyond  my  regular  income,  I  could  not  rely  on  any  substantial 
success  wherewith  to  meet  my  unlucky  publishing  transactions. 
My  income  was  so  small  that  I  could  not  even  live  on  it,  but 
I  asked  nothing  more  than  to  be  placed  on  an  equal  footing 
with  my  colleague  Reissiger,  a  prospect  which  had  been  held 
out  to  me  from  the  beginning. 

At  this  juncture  Liittichau  saw  a  favourable  opportunity 
for  making  me  feel  my  dependence  on  his  goodwill,  which 


432  MY   LIFE 

could  only  be  secured  by  my  showing  due  deference  to  his 
wishes.  After  I  had  laid  my  case  before  the  King,  at  a  per- 
sonal interview,  and  asked  for  the  favour  of  the  moderate  in- 
crease in  income  which  was  my  object,  Liittichau  promised  to 
make  the  report  he  was  obliged  to  give  of  me  as  favourable  as 
possible.  How  great  was  my  consternation  and  humiliation 
when  one  day  he  opened  our  interview  by  telling  me  that  his 
report  had  come  back  from  the  King.  In  it  was  set  forth 
that  I  had  unfortunately  overestimated  my  talent  on  account 
of  the  foolish  praise  of  various  friends  in  a  high  position 
(among  whom  he  counted  Fran  v.  Konneritz),  and  had  thus 
been  led  to  consider  that  I  had  quite  as  good  a  right  to  success 
as  Meyerbeer.  I  had  thereby  caused  such  serious  offence  that  it 
might,  perhaps,  be  considered  advisable  to  dismiss  me  altogether. 
On  the  other  hand,  my  industry  and  my  praiseworthy  perform- 
ance with  regard  to  the  revision  of  Gluck's  Iphigenia,  which 
had  been  brought  to  the  notice  of  the  management,  might 
justify  my  being  given  another  chance,  in  which  case  my 
material  condition  must  be  given  due  consideration.  At  this 
point  I  could  read  no  further,  and  stupefied  by  surprise  I  gave 
my  patron  back  the  paper.  He  tried  at  once  to  remove  the 
obviously  bad  impression  it  had  made  upon  me  by  telling  me 
that  my  wish  had  been  granted,  and  I  could  draw  the  nine 
hundred  marks  belonging  to  me  at  once  from  the  bank.  I 
took  my  leave  in  silence,  and  pondered  over  what  course  of 
action  I  must  pursue  in  face  of  this  disgrace,  as  it  was  quite 
out  of  the  question  for  me  to  accept  the  nine  hundred  marks. 

But  in  the  midst  of  these  adversities  a  visit  of  the  King  of 
Prussia  to  Dresden  was  one  day  announced,  and  at  the  same 
time  by  his  special  request  a  performance  of  Tannhduser  was 
arranged.  He  really  did  make  his  appearance  in  the  theatre 
at  this  performance  in  the  company  of  the  royal  family  of 
Saxony,  and  stayed  with  apparent  interest  from  beginning  to 
end.  On  this  occasion  the  King  gave  a  curious  explanation 
for  having  stayed  away  from  the  performances  of  Rienzi  in 
Berlin,  which  was  afterwards  reported  to  me.  He  said  he  had 
denied  himself  the  pleasure  of  hearing  one  of  my  operas  in 
Berlin,  because  it  was  important  to  get  a  good  impression  of 
them,  and  he  knew  that  in  his  own  theatre  they  would  only 


ORCHESTRAL    CONCERTS    (1848)  433 

be  badly  produced.  This  strange  event  had,  at  any  rate,  the 
result  of  giving  me  back  sufficient  self-confidence  to  accept  the 
nine  hundred  marks  of  which  I  was  in  such  desperate  need. 

Liittichau  also  seemed  to  make  a  point  of  winning  back  my 
trust  to  some  extent,  and  I  gathered  from  his  calm  friendliness 
that  I  must  suppose  this  wholly  uncultured  man  had  no  con- 
sciousness of  the  outrage  he  had  done  me.  He  returned  to  the 
idea  of  having  orchestral  concerts,  in  accordance  with  the  sug- 
gestions I  had  made  in  my  rejected  report  on  the  orchestra, 
and  in  order  to  induce  me  to  arrange  such  musical  performances 
in  the  theatre,  said  the  initiative  had  come  from  the  manage- 
ment and  not  from  the  orchestra  itself.  As  soon  as  I  discovered 
that  the  profits  were  to  go  to  the  orchestra  I  willingly  entered 
into  the  plan.  By  a  special  device  of  my  own  the  stage 
of  the  theatre  was  made  into  a  concert-hall  (afterwards  con- 
sidered first-class)  by  means  of  a  sounding  board  enclosing  the 
whole  orchestra,  which  proved  a  great  success.  In  future  six 
performances  were  to  take  place  during  the  winter  months. 
This  time,  however,  as  it  was  the  end  of  the  year,  and  we  only 
had  the  second  half  of  the  winter  before  us,  subscription  tickets 
were  issued  for  only  three  concerts,  and  the  whole  available 
space  in  the  theatre  was  filled  by  the  public.  I  found  the 
preparations  for  this  fairly  diverting,  and  entered  upon  the 
fateful  year  1848  in  a  rather  more  reconciled  and  amiable 
frame  of  mind. 

Early  in  the  New  Year  the  first  of  these  orchestral  concerts 
took  place,  and  brought  me  much  popularity  on  account  of  its 
unusual  programme.  I  had  discovered  that  if  any  real  sig- 
nificance were  to  be  given  to  these  concerts,  in  distinction  to 
those  consisting  of  heterogeneous  scraps  of  music  of  every 
different  species  under  the  sun,  and  which  are  so  opposed 
to  all  serious  artistic  taste,  we  could  only  afford  to  give  two 
kinds  of  genuine  music  alternately  if  a  good  effect  was  to 
be  produced.  Accordingly  between  two  symphonies  I  placed 
one  or  two  longer  vocal  pieces,  which  were  not  to  be  heard 
elsewhere,  and  these  were  the  only  items  in  the  whole  concert. 
After  the  Mozart  Symphony  in  D  major,  I  made  all  the 
musicians  move  from  their  places  to  make  room  for  an  im- 
posing choir,  which  had  to  sing  Palestrina's  Stabat  Mater,  from 


434  MY    LIFE 

an  adaptation  of  the  original  recitative,  which  I  had  carefully- 
revised,  and  Bach's  Motet  for  eight  voices :  Singet  dem  Herrn 
ein  neues  Lied  ('  Sing  unto  the  Lord  a  new  song ')  ;  thereupon 
I  let  the  orchestra  again  take  its  place  to  play  Beethoven's 
Sinfonia  Eroica,  and  with  that  to  end  the  concert. 

This  success  was  very  encouraging,  and  disclosed  to  me  a 
somewhat  consoling  prospect  of  increasing  my  influence  as 
musical  conductor  at  a  time  when  my  disgust  was  daily  grow- 
ing stronger  at  the  constant  meddling  with  our  opera  repertoire, 
which  made  me  lose  more  and  more  influence  as  compared  with 
the  wishes  of  my  would-be  prima  donna  niece,  whom  even 
Tichatschek  supported.  Immediately  on  my  return  from  Berlin 
I  had  begun  the  orchestration  of  Lohengrin,  and  in  all  other 
respects  had  given  myself  up  to  greater  resignation,  which 
made  me  feel  I  could  face  my  fate  calmly,  when  I  suddenly 
received  a  very  disturbing  piece  of  news. 

In  the  beginning  of  February  my  mother's  death  was  an- 
nounced to  me.  I  at  once  hastened  to  her  funeral  at  Leipzig, 
and  was  filled  with  deep  emotion  and  joy  at  the  wonderfully 
calm  and  sweet  expression  of  her  face.  She  had  passed  the 
latter  years  of  her  life,  which  had  before  been  so  active  and 
restless,  in  cheerful  ease,  and  at  the  end  in  peaceful  and  almost 
childlike  happiness.  On  her  deathbed  she  exclaimed  in  humble 
modesty,  and  with  a  bright  smile  on  her  face :  '  Oh !  how 
beautiful!  how  lovely!  how  divine!  Why  do  I  deserve  such 
favour  ? '  It  was  a  bitterly  cold  morning  when  we  lowered  the 
coffin  into  the  grave  in  the  churchyard,  and  the  hard,  frozen 
lumps  of  earth  which  we  scattered  on  the  lid,  instead  of  the 
customary  handful  of  .dust,  frightened  me  by  the  loud  noise 
they  made.  On  the  way  home  to  the  house  of  my  brother- 
in-law,  Hermann  Brockhaus,  where  the  whole  family  were  to 
gather  together  for  an  hour,  Laube,  of  whom  my  mother  had 
been  very  fond,  was  my  only  companion.  He  expressed  his 
anxiety  at  my  unusually  exhausted  appearance,  and  when  he 
afterwards  accompanied  me  to  the  station,  we  discussed  the 
unbearable  burden  which  seemed  to  us  to  lie  like  a  dead  weight 
on  every  noble  effort  made  to  resist  the  tendency  of  the  time 
to  sink  into  utter  worthlessness.  On  my  return  to  Dresden 
the  realisation  of  my  complete  loneliness  came  over  me  for  the 


THE    FEBRUARY    REVOLUTION  435 

first  time  with  full  consciousness,  as  I  could  not  help  knowing 
that  with  the  loss  of  my  mother  every  natural  bond  of  union 
was  loosened  with  my  brothers  and  sisters,  each  of  whom  was 
taken  up  with  his  or  her  own  family  affairs.  So  I  plunged 
dully  and  coldly  into  the  only  thing  which  could  cheer  and 
warm  me,  the  working  out  of  my  Lohengrin  and  my  studies 
of  German  antiquity. 

Thus  dawned  the  last  days  of  February,  which  were  to 
plunge  Europe  once  more  into  revolution.  I  was  among  those 
who  least  expected  a  probable  or  even  possible  overthrow  of 
the  political  world.  My  first  knowledge  of  such  things  had 
been  gained  in  my  youth  at  the  time  of  the  July  Revolution, 
and  the  long  and  peaceful  reaction  that  followed  it  Since  then 
I  had  become  acquainted  with  Paris,  and  from  all  the  signs  of 
public  life  which  I  saw  there,  I  thought  all  that  had  occurred 
had  been  merely  the  preliminaries  of  a  great  revolutionary 
movement.  I  had  been  present  at  the  erection  of  the  forts 
detaches  around  Paris,  which  Louis  Philippe  had  carried  out, 
and  been  instructed  about  the  strategic  value  of  the  various 
fixed  sentries  scattered  about  Paris,  and  I  agreed  with  those 
who  considered  that  everything  was  ready  to  make  even  an 
attempt  at  a  rising  on  the  part  of  the  populace  of  Paris  quite 
impossible.  "When,  therefore,  the  Swiss  War  of  Separation 
at  the  end  of  the  previous  year,  and  the  successful  Sicilian 
Revolution  at  the  beginning  of  the  New  Year,  turned  all  men's 
eyes  in  great  excitement  to  watch  the  effect  of  these  risings 
on  Paris,  I  did  not  take  the  slightest  interest  in  the  hopes  and 
fears  which  were  aroused.  News  of  the  growing  restlessness 
in  the  French  capital  did  indeed  reach  us,  but  I  disputed 
Rockel's  belief  that  any  significance  could  be  attached  to  it. 
I  was  sitting  in  the  conductor's  desk  at  a  rehearsal  of  Martha 
when,  during  an  interval,  Rockel,  with  the  peculiar  joy  of  being 
in  the  right,  brought  me  the  news  of  Louis  Philippe's  flight, 
and  the  proclamation  of  the  Republic  in  Paris.  This  made 
a  strange  and  almost  astonishing  impression  on  me,  although 
at  the  same  time  the  doubt  as  to  the  true  significance  of  these 
events  made  it  possible  for  me  to  smile  to  myself.  I  too  caught 
the  fever  of  excitement  which  had  spread  everywhere.  The 
German  March  days  were  coming,  and  from  all  directions  ever 


436  MY   LIFE 

more  alarming  news  kept  coming  in.  Even  within  the  narrow 
confines  of  my  native  Saxony  serious  petitions  were  framed, 
which  the  King  withstood  for  a  long  time;  even  he  was  de- 
ceived, in  a  way  which  he  was  soon  to  acknowledge,  as  to 
the  meaning  of  this  commotion  and  the  temper  that  prevailed 
in  the  country. 

On  the  evening  of  one  of  these  really  anxious  days,  when 
the  very  air  was  heavy  and  full  of  thunder,  we  gave  our  third 
great  orchestral  concert,  at  which  the  King  and  his  court  were 
present,  as  on  the  two  previous  occasions.  For  the  opening  of 
this  one  I  had  chosen  Mendelssohn's  Symphony  in  A  minor, 
which  I  had  played  on  the  occasion  of  his  funeral.  The  mood 
of  this  piece,  which  even  in  the  would-be  joyful  phrases  is 
always  tenderly  melancholy,  corresponded  strangely  with  the 
anxiety  and  depression  of  the  whole  audience,  which  was  more 
particularly  accentuated  in  the  demeanour  of  the  royal  family. 
I  did  not  conceal  from  Lipinsky,  the  leader  of  the  orchestra, 
my  regret  at  the  mistake  I  had  made  in  the  arrangement  of 
that  day's  programme,  as  Beethoven's  Fifth  Symphony,  also 
in  a  minor  key,  was  to  follow  this  minor  symphony.  With 
a  merry  twinkle  in  his  eyes  the  eccentric  Pole  comforted  me 
by  exclaiming :  '  Oh,  let  us  play  only  the  first  two  movements 
of  the  Symphony  in  C  minor,  then  no  one  will  know  whether 
we  have  played  Mendelssohn  in  the  major  or  the  minor  key/ 
Fortunately  before  these  two  movements  began,  to  our  great 
surprise,  a  loud  shout  was  raised  by  some  patriotic  spirit  in  the 
middle  of  the  audience,  who  called  out  '  Long  live  the  King ! ' 
and  the  cry  was  promptly  repeated  with  unusual  enthusiasm 
and  energy  on  all  sides.  Lipinsky  was  perfectly  right:  the 
symphony,  with  the  passionate  and  stormy  excitement  of  the 
first  theme,  swelled  out  like  a  hurricane  of  rejoicing,  and  had 
seldom  produced  such  an  effect  on  the  audience  as  on  that 
night.  This  was  the  last  of  the  newly  inaugurated  concerts 
that  I  ever  conducted  in  Dresden. 

Shortly  after  this  the  inevitable  political  changes  took  place. 
The  King  dismissed  his  ministry  and  elected  a  new  one,  con- 
sisting partly  of  Liberals  and  partly  even  of  really  enthusiastic 
Democrats,  who  at  once  proclaimed  the  well-known  regulations, 
which  are  the  same  all  over  the  world,  for  founding  a  thoroughly 


SCOKE    OF    LOHENGRIN    COMPLETED      437 

democratic  constitution.  I  was  really  touched  by  this  result, 
and  by  the  heartfelt  joy  which  was  evident  among  the  whole 
population,  and  I  would  have  given  much  to  have  been  able 
to  gain  access  to  the  King,  and  convince  myself  of  his  hearty 
confidence  in  the  people's  love  for  him,  which  seemed  to  me 
so  desirable  a  consummation.  In  the  evening  the  town  was 
gaily  illuminated,  and  the  King  drove  through  the  streets  in 
an  open  carriage.  In  the  greatest  excitement  I  went  out 
among  the  dense  crowds  and  followed  his  movements,  often 
running  where  I  thought  it  likely  that  a  particularly  hearty 
shout  might  rejoice  and  reconcile  the  monarch's  heart.  My 
wife  was  quite  frightened  when  she  saw  me  come  back  late  at 
night,  tired  out  and  very  hoarse  from  shouting. 

The  events  which  took  place  in  Vienna  and  Berlin,  with  their 
apparently  momentous  results,  only  moved  me  as  interesting 
newspaper  reports,  and  the  meeting  of  a  Frankfort  parliament 
in  the  place  of  the  dissolved  Bundestag  sounded  strangely 
pleasant  in  my  ears.  Yet  all  these  significant  occurrences 
could  not  tear  me  for  a  single  day  from  my  regular  hours  of 
work.  With  immense,  almost  overweening  satisfaction,  I 
finished,  in  the  last  days  of  this  eventful  and  historic  month 
of  March,  the  score  of  Lohengrin  with  the  orchestration  of 
the  music  up  to  the  vanishing  of  the  Knight  of  the  Holy  Grail 
into  the  remote  and  mystic  distance. 

About  this  time  a  young  Englishwomen,  Madame  Jessie 
Laussot,  who  had  married  a  Frenchman  in  Bordeaux,  one  day 
presented  herself  at  my  house  in  the  company  of  Karl  Hitter, 
who  was  barely  eighteen  years  of  age.  This  young  man,  who 
was  born  in  Russia  of  German  parents,  was  a  member  of  one 
of  those  northern  families  \vh<>  had  settled  down  permanently 
in  Dresden,  on  account  of  the  pleasant  artistic  atmosphere  of 
tliaT"place.  I  remembered  that  I  had  seen  him  once  before 
not  long  after  the  first  performance  of  Tannhduser,  when  he 
asked  me  for  my  autograph  for  a  copy  of  the  score  of  that  opera, 
which  was  on  sale  at  the  music-shop.  I  now  learned  that  this 
copy  really  belonged  to  Frau  Laussot,  who  had  been  present 
at  those  performances,  and  who  was  now  introduced  to  me. 
Overcome  with  shyness,  the  young  lady  expressed  her  admira- 
tion in  a  way  I  had  never  experienced  before,  and  at  the  same 


438  MY   LIFE 

time  told  me  how  great  was  her  regret  at  being  called  away 
by  family  affairs  from  her  favourite  home  in  Dresden  with  the 
Bitter  family,  who,  she  gave  me  to  understand,  were  deeply 
devoted  to  me.  It  was  with  a  strange,  and  in  its  way  quite 
a  new,  sensation  that  I  bade  farewell  to  this  young  lady.  This 
was  the  first  time  since  my  meeting  with  Alwine  Frommann 
and  Werder,  when  the  Fliegender  Hollander  was  produced,  that 
I  came  across  this  sympathetic  tone,  which  seemed  to  come 
like  an  echo  from  some  old  familiar  past,  but  which  I  never 
heard  close  at  hand.  I  invited  young  Hitter  to  come  and  see 
me  whenever  he  liked,  and  to  accompany  me  sometimes  on 
my  walks.  His  extraordinary  shyness,  however,  seemed  to 
prevent  him  from  doing  this,  and  I  only  remember  seeing  him 
very  occasionally  at  my  house.  He  used  to  turn  up  more  often 
with  Hans  von  Billow,  whom  he  seemed  to  know  pretty  well, 
and  who  had  already  entered  the  Leipzig  University  as  a 
student  of  law.  This  well-informed  and  talkative  young  man 
showed  his  warm  and  hearty  devotion  to  me  more  openly, 
and  I  felt  bound  to  reciprocate  his  affection.  He  was  the  first 
person  who  made  me  realise  the  genuine  character  ofjjhe  new 
political  enthusiasm.  On  his  hat,  as  welTas  on  his  father's,  the 
black,  red,  and  gold  cockade  was  paraded  before  my  eyes. 

Xow  that  I  had  finished  my  Lohengrin,  and  had  leisure  to 
study  the  course  of  events,  I  could  no  longer  help  myself  sym- 
pathising with  the  ferment  aroused  by  the  birth  of  German 
ideals  and  the  hopes  attached  to  their  realisation.  My  old 
friend  Franck  had  already  imbued  me  with  a  fairly  sound 
political  judgment,  and,  like  many  others,  I  had  grave  doubts 
as  to  whether  the  German  parliament  now  assembling  would 
serve  any  useful  purpose.  Nevertheless,  the  temper  of  the 
populace,  of  which  there  could  be  no  question,  although  it 
might  not  have  been  given  very  obvious  expression,  and  the 
belief,  everywhere  prevalent,  that  it  was  impossible  to  return 
to  the  old  conditions,  could  not  fail  to  exercise  its~influence 
upon  me.  But  I  wanted^actions  instead  of  words,  and  actions 
which  would  force  our  princes  to  break  for  ever  with  their  old 
traditions,  which  were  so  detrimental  to  the  cause  of  the  German 
commonwealth.  With  this  object  I  felt  inspired  to  write  a 
popular  appeal  in  verse,  calling  upon  the  German  princes  and 


POLITICAL    POEMS  439 

peoples  to  inaugurate  a  great  crusade-^igainei  Russia,  as  the 
country  which  had  been  the  prime  instigator  of  that  policy  in 
Germany  winch  had  so  fatally  separated  the  monarchs  from  their 
subjects.  One  of  the  verses  ran  as  follows :  — 

The  old  fight  against  the  East 

Returns  again  to-day. 
The  people's  sword  must  not  rust 

Who  freedom  wish  for  aye. 

As  I  had  no  connection  with  political  journals,  and  had 
learned  by  chance  that  Berthold  Auerbach  was  on  the  staff 
of  a  paper  in  Mannheim,  where  the  waves  of  revolution  ran 
high,  I  sent  him  my  poem  with  the  request  to  do  whatever  he 
thought  best  with  it,  and  from  that  day  to  this  I  have  never 
heard  or  seen  anything  of  it. 

Whilst  the  Frankfort  Parliament  continued  to  sit  on  from 
day  to  day,  and  it  seemed  idle  to  conjecture  whither  this  big 
talk  by  small  men  would  lead,  I  was  much  impressed  by  the 
news  which  reached  us  from  Vienna.  In  the  May  of  this  year 
an  attempt  at  a  reaction,  such  as  had  succeeded  in  Naples 
and  remained  indecisive  in  Paris,  had  been  triumphantly  nipped 
in  the  bud  by  the  enthusiasm  and  energy  of  the  Viennese  people 
under  the  leadership  of  the  students'  band,  who  had  acted  with 
such  unexpected  firmness.  I  had  arrived  at  the  conclusion 
that,  in  matters  directly  concerning  the  people,  no  reliance 
could  be  placed  on  reason  or  wisdom,  but  only  on  sheer  force 
supported  by  fanaticism  or  absolute  necessity;  but  the  course 
of  events  in  Vienna,  where  I  saw  the  youth  of  the  educated 
classes  working  side  by  side  with  the  labouring  man,  filled 
me  with  peculiar  enthusiasm,  to  which  I  gave  expression  in 
another  popular  appeal  in  verse.  This  I  sent  to  the  Oester- 
reichischcn  Zeitung,  where  it  was  printed  in  their  columns  with 
my  full  signature. 

In  Dresden  two  political  unions  had  been  formed,  as  a  result 
of  the  great  changes  that  had  taken  place.  The  first  was 
called  the  Deutscher  Verein  (German  Union),  whose  programme 
aimed  at  l  a  constitutional  monarchy  on  the  broadestT  <famo- 
cratic  foundation.'  The  names  of  its  principal  leaders,  among 
which,  in  spite  of  its  broad  democratic  foundation,  my  friends 


440  MY   LIFE 

Eduard  Devrient  and  Professor  Rietschel  had  the  courage 
openly  to  appear,  guaranteed  the  safety  of  its  objects.  This 
union,  which  tried  to  include  every  element  that  regarded  a 

real  revolution  with  abhorrence,  conjured  into  existence  an 
opposition  club  which  called  itself  the  Vatci 


(Patriotic  Union).  In  this  the  'democratic  foundation' 
seemed  to  be  the  chief  basis,  and  the  '  constitutional  monarchy  ' 
only  provided  the  necessary  cloak. 

Ifcockel  canvassed  passionately  for  the  latter,  as  he  seemed 
to  have  lost  all  confidence  in  the  monarchy.  The  poor  fellow 
was,  indeed,  in  a  very  bad  way.  He  had  long  ago  given  up 
all  hope  of  rising  to  any  position  in  the  musical  world;  his 
directorship  had  become  pure  drudgery,  and  was,  unfortunately, 
so  badly  paid  that  he  could  not  possibly  keep  himself  and  his 
yearly  increasing  family  on  the  income  he  derived  from  his 
post.  He  always  had  an  unconquerable  aversion  from  teaching, 
which  was  a  fairly  profitable  employment  in  Dresden  among 
the  many  wealthy  visitors.  So  he  went  on  from  bad  to  worse, 
running  miserably  into  debt,  and  for  a  long  time  saw  no  hope 
for  his  position  as  the  father  of  a  family  except  in  emigration 
to  America,  where  he  thought  he  could  secure  a  livelihood  for 
himself  and  his  dependants  by  manual  labour,  and  for  his  practi- 
cal mind  by  working  as  a  farmer,  from  which  class  he  had  origin- 
ally sprung.  This,  though  tedious,  would  at  least  be  certain. 
On  our  walks  he  had  of  late  been  entertaining  me  almost 
exclusively  with  ideas  he  had  gleaned  from  reading  books  on 
farming,  doctrines  which  he  applied  with  zeal  to  the  improve- 
ment of  his  encumbered  position.  This  was  the  mood  in  which 
the  Revolution  of  1848  found  him,  and  he  immediately  went 
over  to  the  extreme  socialist  side,  which,  owing  to  the  example 
set  by  Paris,  threatened  to  become  serious.  Every  one  who 
knew  him  was  utterly  taken  aback  at  the  apparently  vital 
change  which  had  so  suddenly  taken  place  in  him,  when  he 
declared  that  he  had  at  last  found  his  real  vocation  —  that  of  an 
agitator. 

His  persuasive  faculties,  on  which,  however,  he  could  not  rely 
sufficiently  for  platform  purposes,  developed  in  private  inter- 
course into  stupefying  energy.  It  was  impossible  to  stop  his 
flow  of  language  with  any  objection,  and  those  he  could  not 


ROCKEL   AS    A   SOCIALIST  441 

draw  over  to  his  cause  he  cast  aside  for  ever.  In  his  enthusiasm 
about  the  problems  which  occupied  his  mind  day  and  night, 
he  sharpened  his  intellect  into  a  weapon  capable  of  demolishing 
every  foolish  objection,  and  suddenly  stood  in  our  midst  like 
a  preacher  in  the  wilderness.  He  was  at  home  in  every  de- 
partment of  knowledge.  The  Vaterlands-Verein  had  elected  a 
committee... for  .carrying  into  execution  a  plan,. for  arming  the 
populace;  this  included  Rockel  and  other  thoroughgoing 
democrats,  and,  in  addition,  certain  military  experts,  among 
whom  was  my  old  friend  Herrmann  Muller?  the  lieutenant  of 
the  Guards  who  had  once  been  engaged  to  Schroder-Devrient. 
He  and  another  officer  named  Zichlinsky  were  the  only  meml>er.s 
of  the  Saxon  army  who  joined  the  political  movement.  The 
part  I  played  in  the  meetings  of  this  committee,  as  in  every- 
thing else,  was  dictated  by  artistic  motives.  As  far  as  I  can  ^ 
remember,  the  details  of  this  plan,  which  at  last  became  a 
nuisance,  afforded  very  sound  foundation  for  a  genuine  arming 
of  the  people,  though  it  was  impossible  to  carry  it  out  during 
the  political  crisis. 

My  interest  and  enthusiasm  about  the  social  and  political  \ 
problems  which  were  occupying  the  whole  world  increased 
every  day,  until  public.  meetings  and  private  intercourse,  and 
the  shallow  platitudes  which  formed  the  >ta]>lr  eloquence  of 
the  orators  of  the  day,  proved  to  me  the  terrible  shallowness 
of  the  whole  movement. 

If  only  I  could  rest  assured  that,  while  such  senseless  con- 
fusion was  the  order  of  the  day,  people  well  versed  in  these 
matters  would  withhold  from  any  demonstration  (which  to 
my  great  regret  I  observed  in  Hermann  Franck,  and  told  him 
of,  openly),  then,  on  the  contrary,  I  should  feel  myself  com- 
pelled, as  soon  as  the  opportunity  arose,  to  discuss  the  purport 
of  such  questions  and  problems  according  to  my  judgment. 
Xeedless  to  say,  the  newspapers  played  an  exciting  and  pro- 
minent part  on  this  occasion.  Once,  when  1  went  incidentally 
(as  I  might  go  to  see  a  play)  t<>  a  meeting  <>f  the  Vatrrlands- 
Verein,  when  they  were  assembled  in  a  public  garden,  they 
chose  for  the  subject  of  their  discussion,  'Republic  or  Mon- 
archy ? '  I  was  astonished  to  hear  and  to  read  with  what 
incredible  triviality  it  was  carried  on,  and  how  the  sum-total 


442  MY   LIFE 

of  their  explanation  was,  that,  to  be  sure,  a  republic  is  best, 
but,  at  the  worst,  one  could  put  up  with  a  monarchy  if  it  were 
well  conducted.  As  the  result  of  many  heated  discussions  on 
this  point,  I  was  incited  to  lay  bare  my  views  on  the  subject 
in  an  article  which  I  published  in  the  Dresdener  Anzeiger,  but 
which  I  did  not  sign.  My  special  aim  was  to  turn  the  atten- 
tion of  the  few  who  really  took  the  matter  seriously,  from  the 
external  form  of  the  government  to  its  intrinsic  value.  "When 
I  had  pursued  and  consistently  discussed  the  utmost  idealistic 
conclusions  of  all  that  which,  to  my  mind,  was  necessary  and 
inseparable  from  the  perfect  state  and  from  social  order,  I  in- 
quired whether  it  would  not  be  possible  to  realise  all  this  with 
a  king  at  the  head,  and  entered  so  deeply  into  the  matter  as  to 
portray  the  king  in  such  a  fashion,  that  he  seemed  even  more 
anxious  than  any  one  else  that  his  state  should  be  organised 
on  genuinely  republican  lines,  in  order  that  he  might  attain 
to  the  fulfilment  of  his  own  highest  aims.  I  must  own,  how- 
ever, that  I  felt  bound  to  urge  this  king  to  assume  a  much  more 
familiar  attitude  towards  his  people  than  the  court  atmo- 
sphere and  the  almost  exclusive  society  of  his  nobles  would 
seem  to  render  possible.  Finally,  I  pointed  to  the  King  of 
Saxony  as  being  specially  chosen  by  Fate  to  lead  the  way  in 
the  direction  I  had  indicated,  and  to  give  the  example  to  all 
the  other  German  princes.  Hockel  considered  this  article  a  true 
inspiration  from  the  Angel  oFPropitiation,  but  as  he  feared  that 
it  would  not  meet  with  proper  recognition  and  appreciation 
in  the  paper,  he  urged  me  to  lecture  on  it  publicly  at  the  next 
meeting  of  the  Vaterlands-Verein,  for  he  attached  great  im- 
portance to  my  discoursing  on  the  subject  personally.  Quite 
uncertain  as  to  whether  I  could  really  persuade  myself  to 
do  this,  I  attended  the  meeting,  and  there,  owing  to  the 
intolerable  balderdash  uttered  by  a  certain  barrister  named 
!B16de  and  a  master-furrier  Klette,  whom  at  that  time  Dresden 
venerated  as  a  Demosthenes  and  a  Cleon,  I  passionately 
decided  to  appear  at  this  extraordinary  tribunal  with  my 
paper,  and  to  give  a  very  spirited  reading  of  it  to  about  three 
thousand  persons. 

The  success  I  had  was  simply  appalling.     The  astounded 
audience  seemed  to  remember  nothing  of  the  speech  of  the 


EESULTS    OF   MY   POLITICAL   SPEECH     443 

Orchestral  Conductor  Royal  save  the  incidental  attack  I  had 
made  upon  the  court  sycophants.  The  news  of  this  incredible 
event  spread  like  wildfire.  The  next  day  I  rehearsed  Rienzi, 
which  was  to  be  performed  the  following  evening.  I  was  con- 
gratulated on  all  sides  upon  my  self-sacrificing  audacity.  On 
the  day  of  the  performance,  however,  I  was  informed  by  Eisolt, 
the  attendant  of  the  orchestra,  that  the  plans  had  been  changed, 
and  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  thereby  there  hung  a  tale. 
True  enough,  the  terrible  sensation  I  had  made  became  so 
great,  that  the  directors  feared  the  most  unheard-of  demon- 
strations at  any  performance  of  Rienzi.  Then  a  perfect  stojmi 
of  derision  and  vituperation  broke  loose  in  the  press,  and  I 
was  besieged  on  all  sides  to  such  an  extent  that  it  was  useless 
to  think  of  self-defence.  I  had  even  offended  the  Communal 
Guard  of  Saxony,  and  was  challenged  by  the  commander  to 
make  a  full  apology.  But  the  most  inexorable  enemies  I  made 
were  the  court  officials,  especially  those  holding  a  minor  office, 
and  to  this  day  I  still  continue  to  be  persecuted  by  them.  I 
learned  that,  as  far  as  it  lay  in  their  power,  they  incessantly 
besought  the  King,  and  finally  the  director,  to  deprive  me  at 
once  of  my  office.  On  account  of  this  I  thought  it  necessary 
to  write  to  the  monarch  personally,  in  order  to  explain  to  him 
that  my  action  was  to  be  regarded  more  in  the  light  of  a  thought- 
less indiscretion  than  as  a  culpable  offence.  I  sent  this  letter 
to  Herr  von  Liittichau,  begging  him  to  deliver  it  to  the  King, 
and  to  arrange  at  the  same  time  a  short  leave  for  me,  so  that 
the  provoking  disturbance  should  have  a  chance  of  dying  down 
during  my  absence  from  Dresden.  The  striking  kindness  and 
goodwill  which  Herr  von  Liittichau  showed  me  on  this  occasion 
made  no  little  impression  upon  me,  and  this  I  took  no  pains 
to  conceal  from  him.  As  in  the  course  of  time,  however,  his 
ill-controlled  rage  at  various  things,  and  especially  at  a  good 
deal  that  he  had  misunderstood  in  my  pamphlet,  broke  loose, 
I  learned  that  it  was  not  from  any  humane  motives  that  he 
had  spoken  in  such  a  propitiatory  manner  to  me,  but  rather  by 
desire  of  the  King  himself.  On  this  point  I  received  most 
accurate  information,  and  heard  that  when  cvrrvlmdy,  and 
even  von  Liittichau  himself,  were  besieging  the  King  to  visit, 
me  with  punishment,  the  King  had  forbidden  any  further  talk 


444:  MY   LIFE 

on  the  subject.  After  this  very  encouraging  experience,  I 
nattered  myself  that  the  King  had  understood  not  only  my 
letter,  but  also  my  pamphlet,  better  than  many  others. 

In  order  to  change  my  mind  a  little,  I  determined  for  the 
present  (it  was  the  beginning  of  July)  to  take  advantage  of  the 
short  period  of  leave  granted  to  me,  by  going  to  Vienna.  I 
travelled  by  way  of  Breslau,  where  I  looked  up  an  old  friend 
of  my  family,  the  musical  director  Mosewius,  at  whose  house 
I  spent  an  evening.  We  had  a  most  lively  conversation,  but, 
unfortunately,  were  unable  to  steer  clear  of  the  stirring  political 
questions  of  the  day.  What  interested  me  most  was  his 
exceptionally  large,  or  even,  if  I  remember  rightly,  complete 
collection  of  Sebastian  Bach's  cantatas  in  most  excellent 
copies.  Besides  this,  he  related,  with  a  humour  quite  his  own, 
several  amusing  musical  anecdotes  which  were  a  pleasant 
memory  for  many  a  year.  When  Mosewius  returned  my  visit 
in  the  course  of  the  summer  at  Dresden,  I  played  a  part  of  the 
first  act  of  Lohengrin  on  the  piano  for  him,  and  the  expression 
of  his  genuine  astonishment  at  this  conception  was  very  grati- 
fying to  me.  In  later  years,  however,  I  found  that  he  had 
spoken  somewhat  scoffingly  about  me;  but  I  did  not  stop  to 
reflect  as  to  the  truth  of  this  information,  or  as  to  the  real 
character  of  the  man,  for  little  by  little  I  had  had  to  accustom 
myself  to  the  most  inconceivable  things.  At  Vienna  the  first 
thing  I  did  was  to  call  on  Professor  Fischhof,  as  I  knew  that 
he  had  in  his  keeping  important  manuscripts,  chiefly  by 
Beethoven,  among  which  the  original  of  the  C  minor  Sonata, 
opus  111,  I  was  particularly  curious  to  see.  Through  this  new 
friend,  whom  I  found  somewhat  dry,  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  Herr  Vesque  von  Piittlingen,  who,  as  the  composer  of  a 
most  insignificant  opera  (Joan  of  Arc},  which  had  been  per- 
formed in  Dresden,  had  with  cautious  good  taste  adopted  only 
the  last  two  syllables  of  Beethoven's  name  —  Hoven.  One  day 
we  were  at  his  house  to  dinner,  and  I  then  recognised  in  him  a 
former  confidential  official  of  Prince  Metternich,  who  now,  with 
his  ribbon  of  black,  red,  and  gold,  followed  the  current  of  the 
age,  apparently  quite  convinced.  I  made  another  interesting 
acquaintance  in  the  person  of  Herr  von  Fonton,  the  Russian 
state  councillor,  and  attache  at  the  Russian  Embassy  in 


REFORM  OF   THE    THEATRE  445 

Vienna.  I  frequently  met  this  man,  both  at  Fischhof's  house 
and  on  excursions  into  the  surrounding  country;  and  it  was 
interesting  to  me  for  the  first  time  to  run  up  against  a  man 
who  could  so  strongly  profess  his  faith  in  the  pessimistic  stand- 
point that  a  consistent  despotism  guarantees  the  only  order 
of  things  which  can  be  tolerated.  Not  without  interest,  and 
certainly  not  without  intelligence  —  for  he  boasted  of  having 
been  educated  at  the  most  enlightened  schools  in  Switzerland 
—  he  listened  to  my  enthusiastic  narration  of  the  art  ideal 
which  I  had  in  my  mind,  and  which  was  destined  to  exercise 
a  great  and  decided  influence  upon  the  human  race.  As  he 
had  to  allow  that  the  realisation  of  this  ideal  could  not  be 
effected  through  the  strength  of  despotism,  and  as  he  was  unable 
to  foresee  any  rewards  for  my  exertions,  by  the  time  we  came 
to  the  champagne  he  thawed  to  such  a  degree  of  affable  good- 
nature as  to  wish  me  every  success.  I  learned  later  on  that  this 
man,  of  whose  talent  and  energetic  character  I  had  at  the  time 
no  small  opinion,  was  last  heard  of  as  being  in  great  distress. 

Now,  as  I  never  undertook  anything  whatever  without  some 
serious  object  in  view,  I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  avail  myself 
of  this  visit  to  Vienna,  in  order  to  try  in  some  practical  manner 
to  promote  my  ideas  for  the  reform  of  the  theatre.  Vienna 
seemed  to  me  specially  suitable  for  this  purpose,  as  at  that  time 
it  had  five  theatres,  all  totally  different  in  character,  which 
were  dragging  on  a  miserable  existence.  I  quickly  worked  out 
a  plan,  according  to  which  these  various  theatres  might  be 
formed  into  a  sort  of  co-operative  organisation,  and  placed 
under  one  administration  composed  not  only  of  active  members, 
but  also  of  all  those  having  any  literary  connection  with  the 
theatre.  With  a  view  to  submitting  my  plan  to  them,  I  then 
made  inquiries  about  persons  with  such  capacities  as  seemed 
most  likely  to  answer  my  requirements.  Besides  Herr  Fried- 
rich  Uhl,  whom  I  had  got  to  know  at  the  very  beginning  through 
Fischer,  and  who  did  me  very  good  service,  I  was  told  of  a 
Herr  Franck  (the  same,  I  presume,  who  later  on  published  a 
big  epic  work  called  Tannhauser),  and  a  Dr.  Pacher,  an  agent 
of  Meyerbeer's,  and  a  pettifogger  of  whose  acquaintance  later 
on  I  was  to  have  no  reason  to  be  proud.  The  most  sympathetic, 
and  certainly  the  most  important,  of  those  chosen  by  me  for 


446  MY   LIFE 

the  conference  meeting  at  Fischhof's  house,  was  undoubtedly 
Dr.  Becher,  a  passionate  and  exceedingly  cultivated  man. 
He  was  the  only  one  present  who  seriously  followed  the  read- 
ing of  my  plan,  although,  of  course,  he  by  no  means  agreed 
with  everything.  I  observed  in  him  a  certain  wildness  and 
vehemence,  the  impression  of  which  returned  to  me  very 
vividly  some  months  later,  when  I  heard  of  his  being  shot 
as  a  rebel  who  had  participated  in  the  October  Insurrection  at 
Vienna.  For  the  present,  then,  I  had  to  satisfy  myself  with 
having  read  the  plan  of  my  theatre  reform  to  a  few  attentive 
listeners.  All  seemed  to  be  convinced  that  the  time  was  not 
opportune  for  putting  forward  such  peaceable  schemes  of 
reform.  On  the  other  hand,  Uhl  thought  it  right  to  give  me 
an  idea  of  what  was  at  present  all  the  rage  in  Vienna,  by  taking 
me  one  evening  to  a  political  club  of  the  most  advanced  tend- 
encies. There  I  heard  a  speech  by  Herr  Sigismund  Englander, 
who  shortly  afterwards  attracted  much  attention  in  the  political 
monthly  papers;  the  unblushing  audacity  with  which  he  and 
others  expressed  themselves  that  evening  with  regard  to  the 
most  dreaded  persons  in  public  power  astounded  me  almost 
as  much  as  the  poverty  of  the  political  views  expressed  on  that 
occasion.  By  way  of  contrast  I  received  a  very  nice  impression 
of  Herr  Grillparzer,  the  poet,  whose  name  was  like  a  fable  to 
me,  associated  as  it  was,  from  my  earliest  days,  with  his  Ahnfrau. 
I  approached  him  also  with  respect  to  the  matter  of  my  theatre 
reform.  He  seemed  quite  disposed  to  listen  in  a  friendly 
manner  to  what  I  had  to  say  to  him;  he  did  not,  however, 
attempt  to  conceal  his  surprise  at  my  direct  appeals  and  the 
personal  demands  I  made  of  him.  He  was  the  first  playwright 
I  had  ever  seen  in  an  official  uniform. 

After  I  had  paid  an  unsuccessful  visit  to  Herr  Bauernfeld,  re- 
lative to  the  same  business,  I  concluded  that  Vienna  was  of  no 
more  use  for  the  present,  and  gave  myself  up  to  the  excep- 
tionally stimulating  impressions  produced  by  the  public  life  uf 
the  motley  crowd,  which  of  late  had  undergone  such  marked 
changes.  If  the  student  band,  which  was  always  represented 
in  great  numbers  in  the  streets,  had  already  amused  me  with 
the  extraordinary  constancy  with  which  its  members  sported 
the  German  colour*,  I  was  very  highly  diverted  by  the  effect 


PRAGUE  447 

produced  when  at  the  theatres  I  saw  even  the  ices  served  by 
attendants  in  the  black,  red,  and  gold  of  Austria.  At  the 
Karl  Theatre,  in  the  Leopold  quarter  of  the  town,  I  saw  a  new 
farce,  by  Nestroy,  which  actually  introduced  the  character  of 
Prince  Metternich,  and  in  which  this  statesman,  on  being  asked 
whether  he  had  poisoned  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  had  to  make 
his  escape  behind  the  wings  as  an  unmasked  sinner.  On 
the  whole,  the  appearance  of  this  imperial  city  —  usually  so 
fond  of  pleasure  —  impressed  one  with  a  feeling  of  youthful  and 
powerful  confidence.  And  this  impression  was  revived  in  me 
when  I  heard  of  the  energetic  participation  of  tlie  youthful 
members  of  the  population,  during  those  fateful  October  days, 
in  the  defence  of  Vienna  against  the  troops  of  Prince  "Windisch- 
gratz. 

On  the  homeward  journey  I  touched  at  Prague,  where  I 
found  my  old  friend  Kittl.  (who  had  grown  very  much  more 
corpulent)  still  in  the  most  terrible  fright  about  the  riotous 
events  which  had  taken  place  there.  He  seemed  to  be  of 
opinion  that  the  revolt  of  the  Tschech  party  against  the  Austrian 
Government  was  directed  at  him  personally,  and  he  thought 
fit  to  reproach  himself  with  the  terrible  agitation  of  the  time, 
which  he  believed  he  had  specially  inflamed  by  his  composition 
of  my  operatic  text  of  Die  Franzosen  vor  Nizza,  out  of  which  a 
kind  of  revolutionary  air  seemed  to  have  become  very  popular. 
To  my  great  pleasure,  on  my  homeward  journey  I  had  the 
company  of  Hanel  the  sculptor,  whom  I  met  on  the  steamer. 
There  travelled  with  us  also  a  Count  Albert  Nbstitz,  with  whom 
he  had  just  settled  up  his  business  concerning  the  statue  of 
the  Emperor  Charles  IV.,  and  he  was  in  the  gayest  mood,  as  the 
extremely  insecure  state  of  Austrian  paper  money  had  led  to  his 
being  paid  at  a  great  profit  to  himself,  in  silver  coin  in  accord- 
ance with  his  agreement  I  was  very  pleased  to  find  that, 
thanks  to  this  circumstance,  he  was  in  such  a  confident  mood, 
and  so  free  from  prejudice,  that  on  arriving  at  Dresden  he 
accompanied  me  the  whole  way  —  a  very  long  distance  —  from 
the  landing-stage  at  which  we  had  left  the  steamer  to  my  house, 
in  an  open  carriage ;  and  this  despite  the  fact  that  he  very  well 
knew  that,  only  a  few  weeks  before,  I  had  caused  a  really 
terrible  stir  in  this  very  city. 


448  MY   LIFE 

As  far  as  the  public  were  concerned,  the  storm  seemed  quite 
to  have  died  down,  and  I  was  able  to  resume  my  usual  occu- 
pations and  mode  of  life  without  any  further  trouble.  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  however,  that  my  old  worries  and  anxieties 
started  afresh ;  I  stood  in  great  need  of  money,  and  had  not  the 
vaguest  notion  whither  to  go  in  search  of  it.  I  then  examined 
very  thoroughly  the  answer  I  had  received  during  the  preceding 
winter  to  my  petition  for  a  higher  salary.  I  had  left  it  unread, 
as  the  modifications  made  in  it  had  already  disgusted  me.  If 
I  had  till  now  believed  that  it  was  Herr  von  Liittichau  who 
had  brought  about  the  increase  of  salary  I  had  demanded,  in 
the  shape  of  a  supplement  which  I  was  to  receive  annually  — 
in  itself  a  humiliating  thing  —  I  now  saw  to  my  horror  that  all 
the  time  there  had  been  no  mention  save  of  one  single  supple- 
ment, and  that  there  was  nothing  to  show  that  this  should  be 
repeated  annually.  On  learning  this,  I  saw  that  I  should  now 
be  at  the  hopeless  disadvantage  of  coming  too  late  with  a 
remonstrance  if  I  should  attempt  to  make  one;  so  there  was 
nothing  left  for  me  but  to  submit  to  an  insult  which,  under 
the  circumstances,  was  quite  unprecedented.  My  feelings 
towards  Herr  von  Liittichau,  which  shortly  before  had  been 
rather  warm  owing  to  his  supposed  kind  attitude  towards  me 
during  the  last  disturbance,  now  underwent  a  serious  change, 
and  I  soon  had  a  new  reason  (actually  connected  with  the  above- 
mentioned  affair)  for  altering  my  favourable  opinion  of  him, 
and  for  turning  finally  against  him  for  good  and  all.  He  had 
informed  me  that  the  members  of  the  Imperial  Orchestra  had 
sent  him  a  deputation  demanding  my  instant  dismissal,  as 
they  thought  that  it  affected  their  honour  to  be  any  longer 
under  a  conductor  who  had  compromised  himself  politically  to 
the  extent  which  I  had.  He  also  informed  me  that  he  had 
not  only  reprimanded  them  very  severely,  but  that  he  had  also 
been  at  great  pains  to  pacify  them  concerning  me.  All  this, 
which  Liittichau  had  put  in  a  highly  favourable  light,  had 
latterly  made  me  feel  very  friendly  towards  him.  Then,  how- 
ever, as  the  result  of  inquiries  into  the  matter,  I  heard  acci- 
dentally through  members  of  the  orchestra  that  the  facts  of  the 
case  were  almost  exactly  the  reverse.  What  had  happened 
was  this,  that  the  members  of  the  Imperial  Orchestra  had  been 


THE  ROYAL  ORCHESTRA  AND  LUTTICHAU    449 

approached  on  all  sides  by  the  officials  of  the  court,  and  had 
been  not  only  earnestly  requested  to  do  what  Liittichau  had 
declared  they  had  done  of  their  own  accord,  but  also  threatened 
with  the  displeasure  of  the  King,  and  of  incurring  the  strongest 
suspicion  if  they  refused  to  comply.  In  order  to  protect  them- 
selves against  this  intrigue,  and  to  avoid  all  evil  consequences 
should  they  not  take  the  required  step,  the  musicians  had  turned 
to  their  principal,  and  had  sent  him  a  deputation,  through 
which  they  declared  that,  as  a  corporation  of  artists,  they  did 
not  in  the  least  feel  called  upon  to  mix  themselves  up  in  a 
matter  that  did  not  concern  them.  Thus  the  halo  with  which 
my  former  attachment  to  Herr  von  Liittichau  had  surrounded 
him  at  last  disappeared  for  good  and  all,  and  it  was  chiefly 
my  shame  at  having  been  so  very  much  upset  by  his  false  con- 
duct that  now  inspired  me  for  ever  with  such  bitter  feelings 
for  this  man.  What  determined  this  feeling  even  more  than 
the  insults  I  had  suffered,  was  the  recognition  of  the  fact  that 
I  was  now  utterly  incapable  of  ever  being  able  to  enlist  his 
influence  in  the  cause  of  theatrical  reform,  which  was 
so  dear  to  me.  It  was  natural  that  I  should  learn  to  attach 
ever  less  and  less  importance  to  the  mere  retention  of  the  post 
of  orchestral  conductor  on  so  extraordinarily  inadequate  and 
reduced  a  salary ;  and  in  keeping  to  this  office,  I  merely  bowed 
to  what  was  an  inevitable  though  purely  accidental  circum- 
stance of  a  wretched  fate.  I  did  nothing  to  make  the  post 
more  intolerable,  but,  at  the  same  time,  I  moved  not  a  finger 
to  ensure  its  permanence. 

The  very  next  thing  I  must  do  was  to  attempt  to  establish 
my  hopes  of  a  larger  income,  so  sadly  doomed  hitherto,  upon  a 
very  onuch  sounder  basis.  In  this  respect  it  occurred  to  me 
that  I  might  consult  my  friend  Liszt,  and  beg  him  to  suggest  a 
remedy  for  my  grievous  position.  And  lo  and  behold,  shortly 
after  those  fateful  March  days,  and  not  long  before  the  com- 
pletion of  my  Lohengrin  score,  to  my  very  great  delight  and 
astonishment,  the  very  man  I  wanted  walked  into  my  room. 
He  had  come  from  Vienna,  where  he  had  lived  through  the 
'  Barricade  Days,'  and  he  was  going  on  to  Weimar,  where  he 
intended  to  settle  permanently.  We  spent  an  evening  together 
at  Schumann's,  had  a  little  music,  and  finally  began  a  discussion 


450  MY   LIFE 

on  Mendelssohn  and  Meyerbeer,  in  which  Liszt  and  Schumann 
differed  so  fundamentally  that  the  latter,  completely  losing 
his  temper,  retired  in  a  fury  to  his  bedroom  for  quite  a  long 
time.  This  incident  did  indeed  place  us  in  a  somewhat  awk- 
ward position  towards  our  host,  but  it  furnished  us  with 
a  most  amusing  topic  of  conversation  on  the  way  home.  I 
have  seldom  seen  Liszt  so  extravagantly  cheerful  as  on  that 
night,  when,  in  spite  of  the  cold  and  the  fact  that  he  was  clad 
only  in  ordinary  evening-dress,  he  accompanied  first  the  music 
director  Schubert,  and  then  myself,  to  our  respective  homes. 
Subsequently  I  took  advantage  of  a  few  days'  holiday  in 
August  to  make  an  excursion  to  Weimar,  where  I  found  Liszt 
permanently  installed  and,  as  is  well  known,  enjoying  a  life 
of  most  intimate  intercourse  with  the  Grand  Duke.  Even 
though  he  was  unable  to  help  me  in  my  affairs,  except  by  giving 
me  a  recommendation  which  finally  proved  useless,  his  reception 
of  me  on  this  short  visit  was  so  hearty  and  so  exceedingly 
stimulating,  that  it  left  me  profoundly  cheered  and  encouraged. 
On  returning  to  Dresden  I  tried  as  far  as  possible  to  curtail 
my  expenses  and  to  live  within  my  means;  and,  as  every 
means  of  assistance  failed  me,  I  resorted  to  the  expedient  of 
sending  out  a  circular  letter  addressed  jointly  to  my  remaining 
creditors,  all  of  whom  were  really  friends;  and  in  this  I  told 
them  frankly  of  my  situation,  and  enjoined  them  to  relinquish 
their  demands  for  an  indefinite  time,  till  my  affairs  took  a  turn 
for  the  better,  as  without  this  I  should  certainly  never  be  in" 
a  position  to  satisfy  them.  By  this  means  they  would,  at  all 
events,  be  in  a  position  to  oppose  my  general  manager,  whom 
I  had  every  reason  to  suspect  of  evil  designs,  and  who  would 
have  been  only  too  glad  to  seize  any  signs  of  hostility  towards 
me,  on  the  part  of  my  creditors,  as  a  pretext  for  taking  the 
worst  steps  against  me.  The  assurance  I  required  was  given 
me  unhesitatingly;  my  friend  Pusinelli,  and  Frau  Klepper- 
bein  (an  old  friend  of  my  mother's),  even  going  so  far  as  to 
declare  that  they  were  prepared  to  give  up  all  claim  to  the 
money  they  had  lent  me.  Thus,  in  some  measure  reassured, 
and  with  my  position  relative  to  Liittichau  so  far  improved 
that  I  could  consult  my  own  wishes  as  to  whether  and  when 
I  should  give  up  my  post  entirely,  I  now  continued  to  fulfil  my 


ROCKEL'S  POPULAR  JOURNAL     451 

duties  as  a  conductor  as  patiently  and  conscientiously  as  I 
was  able,  while  with  great  zeal  I  also  resumed  my  studies,  which 
were  carrying  me  ever  further  and  further  afield. 

Thus  settled,  I  now  began  to  watch  the  wonderful  develop- 
ments in  the  fate  of  my  friend  Rockel.  As  every  day  brought 
fresh  rumours  of  threatened  reactionary  coups  il'i'lnl  and  similar 
violent  outbreaks,  which  Rockel  thought  it  right  to  prevent, 
he  drew  up  an  appeal  to  the  soldiers  of  the  army  of  Saxony, 
in  which  he  explained  every  detail  of  the  cause  lor  which  lie 
stood,  and  which  he  then  had  printed  and  distributed  broad- 
cast. This  was  too  flagrant  a  misdeed  for  the  public  prose- 
cutors: he  was  therefore  immediately  placed  under  unv-t,  and 
had  to  remain  three  days  in  gaol  while  an  action  for  high 
treason  was  lodged  against  him.  He  was  only  released  when 
the  solicitor  Minkwitz  stood  bail  for  the  requisite  three  thousand 
marks  (equal  to  £150).  This  return  home  to  his  anxious  wife 
and  children  was  celebrated  by  a  little  public  festival,  which 
the  committee  of  the  Vaterlands-Verein  had  sir  ranged  in  his 
honour,  and  fHe  liberated  man  was  greeted  as  the  champion 
of  the  people's  cause.  On  the  other  hand,  however,  the  general 
management  of  ine  court  theatre,  who  had  before  suspended 
him  temporarily,  now  gave  him  his  final  dismissal.  Rockel 
let  a  full  beard  grow,  and  bpfran  the  pnhljcftt.irm  of  a.  popular 
journal  called  the  Volksblatt,  of  which  he  was  >ole  editor,  lie 
must  have  counted  on  its  success  to  compensate  him  for  the 
loss  of  his  salary  as  musical  director,  for  he  at  once  hired 
an  office  in  the  Briidergasse  for  his  undertaking.  This  paper 
succeeded  in  attracting  the  attention  of  a  great  many  peopl6 
to  its  editor,  and  showed  up ^jijrtgtPTTt,u  I"  qiHW  ft  naw  light. 
He  never  got  involved  in  his  style  or  indulged  in  any  elaboration 
of  words,  but  confined  himself  to  matters  of  immediate  im- 
portance and  general  interest;  it  was  only  after  having  dis- 
cussed them  in  a  calm  and  sober  fashion,  that  he  led  up  from 
them  to  further  deductions  of  still  greater  interest  connected 
with  them.  The  individual  articles  were  short,  and  never 
contained  anything  superfluous,  in  addition  to  which  they 
were  so  clearly  written,  that  they  made  an  instructive  and 
convincing  appeal  to  the  most  uneducated  mind.  By  always 
going  to  the  root  of  things,  instead  of  indulging  in  circum- 


452  MY   LIFE 

locutions  which,  in  politics,  have  caused  such  great  confusion 
in  the  minds  of  the  uneducated  masses,  he  soon  had  a  large 
circle  of  readers,  both  among  cultivated  and  uncultivated 
people.  The  only  drawback  was  that  the  price  of  the  little 
weekly  paper  was  too  small  to  yield  him  a  corresponding  profit. 
Moreover,  it  was  necessary  to  warn  him  that  if  the  reactionary 
party  should  ever  come  into  power  again,  it  could  never 
possibly  forgive  him  for  this  newspaper.  His  younger  brother, 
Edward,  who  was  paying  a  visit  at  the  time  in  Dresden,  declared 
himself  willing  to  accept  a  post  as  piano-teacher  in  England, 
which,  though  most  uncongenial  to  him,  would  be  lucrative 
and  place  him  in  a  position  to  help  Rockel's  family,  if,  as 
seemed  probable,  he  met  his  reward  in  prison  or  on  the  gallows. 
Owing  to  his  connection  with  various  societies,  his  time  was  so 
much  taken  up  that  my  intercourse  with  him  was  limited  to 
walks,  which  became  more  and  more  rare.  On  these  occasions 
I  often  got  lost  in  the  most  wildly  speculative  and  profound 
discussions,  while  this  wonderfully  exciteable  man  always  re- 
mained calmly  reflective  and  clear-headed.  First  and  fore- 

/"most,  he  had  planned  a  drastic  social  reform  of  the  middle 
classes  —  as  at  present  constituted  —  by  aiming  at  a  complete 

\  alteration  of  the  basis  of  their  condition.  He  constructed  a 
\  totally  new  moral  order  of  things,  founded  on  the  teaching  of 
Proudhon  and  other  socialists  regarding  the  annihilation  of 
the  power  of  capital,  by  immediately  productive  labour,  dis- 
pensing with  the  middleman.  Little  by  little  he  converted 
me,  by  most  seductive  arguments,  to  his  own  views,  to  such  an 
extent  that  I  began  to  rebuild  my  hopes  for  the  realisation 
of  my  ideal  in  art  upon  them.  Thus  there  were  two  questions 
which  concerned  me  very  nearly:  he  wished  to  abolish  matri- 
mony, in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the  word,  altogether.  I  there- 
upon asked  him  what  he  thought  the  result  would  be  of 
promiscuous  intercourse  with  women  of  a  doubtful  character. 
With  amiable  indignation  he  gave  me  to  understand  that  we 
could  have  no  idea  about  the  purity  of  morals  in  general,  and  of 
the  relations  of  the  sexes  in  particular,  so  long  as  we  were  unable 
to  free  people  completely  from  the  yoke  of  the  trades,  guilds, 
and  similar  coercive  institutions.  He  asked  me  to  consider 
what  the  only  motive  would  be  which  would  induce  a  woman 


SOCIALISTIC    SPECULATIONS  453 

to  surrender  herself  to  a  man,  when  not  only  the  considerations 
of  money,  fortune,  position,  and  family  prejudices,  but  also 
the  various  influences  necessarily  arising  from  these,  had 
disappeared.  When  I,  in  my  turn,  asked  him  whence  he 
would  obtain  persons  of  great  intellect  and  of  artistic  ability, 
if  everybody  were  to  be  merged  in  the  working  classes,  he  met 
my  objection  by  replying,  that  owing  to  the  very  fact  that 
everybody  would  participate  in  the  necessary  labour  according 
to  his  strength  and  capacity,  work  would  cease  to  be  a  burden, 
and  would  become  simply  an  occupation  which  would  finally 
assume  an  entirely  artistic  character.  He  demonstrated  this 
on  the  principle  that,  as  had  already  been  proved,  a  field, 
worked  laboriously  by  a  single  peasant,  was  infinitely  less 
productive  than  when  cultivated  by  several  persons  in  a 
scientific  way.  These  and  similar  suggestions,  which  Rockel  X 
communicated  to  me  with  a  really  delightful  enthusiasm,  led  \ 
me  to  further  reflections,  and  gave  birth  to  new  plans  upon 
which,  to  my  mind,  a  possible  organisation  of  the  human  race,  / 
which  would  correspond  to  my  highest  ideals  in  art,  could  alone^,/ 
be  based.  In  reference  to  this,  I  immediately  turned  my 
thoughts  to  what  was  close  at  hand,  and  directed  my  attention 
to  the  theatre.  The  motive  for  this  came  not  only  from  my 
own  feelings,  but  also  from  external  circumstances.  In  accord- 
ance with  the  latest  democratic  suffrage  laws,  a  general  election 
seemed  imminent  in  Saxony;  the  election  of  extreme  radicals, 
which  had  now  taken  place  nearly  everywhere  else,  showed  us 
that  if  the  movement  lasted,  there  would  be  the  most  extra- 
ordinary changes  even  in  the  administration  of  the  revenue. 
Apparently  a  general  resolution  had  been  passed  to  subject 
the  Civil  List  to  a  strict  revision;  all  that  was  deemed  super- 
fluous in  the  royal  household  was  to  be  done  away  with;  the 
theatre,  as  an  unnecessary  place  of  entertainment  for  a  depraved 
portion  of  the  public,  was  threatened  with  the  withdrawal  of 
the  subsidy  granted  it  from  the  Civil  ListT'T  now  resolved, 
in  view  of  the  importance  which  I  attached  to  the  theatre,  to 
suggest  to  the  ministers  that  they  should  inform  the  members 
of  parliament,  that  if  the  theatre  in  its  present  condition  were 
not  worth  any  sacrifice  from  the  state,  it  would  sink  to  still 
more  doubtful  tendencies  —  and  might  even  become  dangerous 


454:  MY   LIFE 

to  public  morals  —  if  deprived  of  that  state  control  which  had 
for  its  aim  the  ideal,  and,  at  the  same  time,  felt  itself  called 
upon  to  place  culture  and  education  under  its  beneficial  pro- 
tection. It  was  of  the  highest  importance  to  me  to  secure  an 
organisation  of  the  theatre,  which  would  make  the  carrying 
its  loftiest  ideals  not  only  a  possibility  but  also  a  certainty. 
Accordingly  I  drew  up  a  project  by  which  the  same  sum  as 
t,  that  which  was  allotted  from  the  Civil  List  for  the  support  of 
•  a  court  theatre  should  be  employed  for  the  foundation  and 
upkeep  of  a  national  theatre  for  the  kingdom  of  Saxony.  In 
owing  the  practical  nature  of  the  well-planned  particulars 
of  my  scheme,  I  defined  them  with  such  great  precision,  that 
I  felt  assured  my  work  would  serve  as  a  useful  guide  to  the 
ministers  as  to  how  they  should  put  this  matter  before  parlia- 
ment. The  point  now  was  to  have  a  personal  interview  with 
one  of  the  ministers,  and  it  occurred  to  me  that  the  best  man 
to  apply  to  in  the  matter  would  be  Herr  von  der  Pfordten, 
the  Minister  of  Education.  Although  he  already  enjoyed  the 
reputation  of  being  a  turncoat  in  politics,  and  was  said  to  be 
struggling  to  efface  the  origin  of  his  political  promotion,  which 
had  taken  place  at  a  time  of  great  agitation,  the  mere  fact  of 
his  having  formerly  been  a  professor  was  sufficient  to  make 
me  suppose  that  he  was  a  man  with  whom  I  could  discuss  the 
question  that  I  had  so  much  at  heart.  I  learned,  however,  that 
the  real  art  institutions  of  the  kingdom,  such,  for  instance,  as 
the  Academy  of  Fine  Arts,  to  whose  number  I  so  ardently 
desired  to  see  the  theatre  added,  belonged  to  the  department 
of  the  Minister  of  the  Interior.  To  this  man  —  the  worthy 
though  not  highly  cultivated  or  artistic  Herr  Oberlander  —  I 
submitted  my  plans,  not,  however,  without  having  first  made 
myself  known  to  Herr  von  der  Pfordten,  in  order,  for  the  reasons 
above  stated,  to  command  my  project  to  him.  This  man,  who 
apparently  was  very  busy,  received  me  in  a  polite  and  reassuring 
manner;  but  his  whole  bearing,  indeed  the  very  expression 
of  his  face,  seemed  to  destroy  all  hopes  I  might  ever  have 
cherished  of  finding  in  him  that  understanding  which  I  had 
expected.  The  minister  Oberlander,  on  the  other  hand,  earned 
my  confidence  by  the  straightforward  earnestness  with  which 
he  promised  a  thorough  inquiry  into  the  matter.  Unfortu- 


REORGANISING   THE    THEATRE  455 

nately,  however,  at  the  same  time,  he  informed  me  with  the 
most  simple  frankness,  that  he  could  entertain  but  very  little 
hope  of  getting  the  King's  authorisation  for  any  unusual  treat- 
ment of  a  question  hitherto  given  over  to  routine.  It  must 
be  understood  that  the  relations  of  the  King  to  his  ministers 
were  both  strained  and  unconfidential,  and  that  this  was  more 
especially  so  in  the  case  of  Oberlander,  who  never  approached 
the  monarch  on  any  other  business  than  that  which  the  strictest 
discharge  of  his  current  duties  rendered  indispensable.  He 
therefore  thought  it  would  be  better  if  my  plan  could  be 
brought  forward,  in  the  first  place,  by  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
As,  in  the  event  of  the  new  Civil  List  being  discussed,  I  was 
particularly  anxious  to  avoid  the  question  of  the  continuation 
of  the  court  theatre  being  treated  in  the  ignorant  and  short- 
sighted radical  fashion,  which  was  to  be  feared  above  all,  I 
dlcl  not  despair  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  some  of  the 
most  influential  among  the  new  members  of  parliament.  In 
this  wise  I  found  myself  suddenly  plunged  into  quite  a  new 
and  strange  world,  and  became  acquainted  with  persons  and 
opinions,  the  very  existence  of  which  until  then  I  had  not  even 
suspected.  I  found  it  somewhat  trying  always  to  be  obliged 
to  meet  these  gentlemen  at  their  beer  and  shrouded  in  the 
dense  clouds  of  their  tobacco  smoke,  and  to  have  to  discuss 
with  them  matters  which,  though  very  dear  to  me,  must  have 
seemed  a  little  fantastic  to  their  mind.  After  a  certain  Heir 
von  Trjitschler,  a  very  handsome,  energetic  man,  whose  serious- 
ness was  almost  gloomy,  had  listened  to  me  calmly  for  some 
time,  and  had  told  me  that  he  no  longer  knew  anything  about 
the  state,  but  only  about  society,  and  that  the  latter  would 
know,  without  either  his  or  my  aid,  how  it  should  act  in  regard 
to  art  and  to  the  theatre,  I  was  filled  with  such  extraordinary 
feelings,  half  mingled  with  shame,  that  there  and  then  I  gave 
up,  not  only  all  my  exertions,  but  all  my  hopes  as  well.  The 
only  reminder  I  ever  had  of  the  whole  affair  came  some  while 
after  when,  on  meeting  Herr  von  Liittichau,  I  quickly  gathered 
from  his  attitude  to  me  that  he  had  got  wind  of  the  episode,  and 
that  it  only  inspired  him  with  fresh  hostility  towards  me. 

During  my  walks,   which  I  now  took   absolutely  alone,  I 
thought  ever  more  deeply  —  and  much  to  the  relief  of  my  mind 


456  MY   LIFE 

—  over  my  ideas  concerning  that  state  of  human  society  for 
which  the  boldest  hopes  and  efforts  of  the  socialists  and  com- 
munists, then  busily  engaged  in  constructing  their  system, 
offered  me  but  the  roughest  foundation.  These  efforts  could 
begin  to  have  some  meaning  and  value  for  me  only  when  they 
had  attained  to  that  political  revolution  and  reconstruction 
which  they  aimed  at;  for  it  was  only  then  that  I,  in  my  turn, 
could  start  my  reforms  in  art. 

At  the  same  time  my  thoughts  were  busy  with  a  drama, 
in  which  the  Emperor  Frederick  I.  (surnamed  '  Barbarossa ') 
was  to  be  the  hero.  In  it  the  model  ruler  was  portrayed  in 
a  manner  which  lent  him  the  greatest  and  most  powerful 
significance.  His  dignified  resignation  at  the  impossibility  of 
making  his  ideals  prevail  was  intended  not  only  to  present  a 
true  transcript  of  the  arbitrary  multifariousness  of  the  things 
of  this  world,  but  also  to  arouse  sympathy  for  the  hero.  I 
wished  to  carry  out  this  drama  in  popular  rhyme,  and  in  the 
style  of  the  German  used  by  our  epic  poets  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
and  in  this  respect  the  poem  Alexander,  by  the  priest  Lambert, 
struck  me  as  a  good  example ;  but  I  never  got  further  with  this 
play  than  to  sketch  its  outline  in  the  broadest  manner  possible. 
The  five  acts  were  planned  in  the  following  manner:  Act  i. 
Imperial  Diet  in  the  Roncaglian  fields,  a  demonstration  of  the 
significance  of  imperial  power  which  should  extend  even  to  the 
investiture  of  water  and  air;  Act  ii.  the  siege  and  capture  of 
Milan;  Act  iii.  revolt  of  Henry  the  Lion  and  his  overthrow 
at  Ligano ;  Act  iv.  Imperial  Diet  in  Augsburg,  the  humiliation 
and  punishment  of  Henry  the  Lion ;  Act  v.  Imperial  Diet  and 
grand  court  assembly  at  Mainz;  peace  with  the  Lombards, 
reconciliation  with  the  Pope,  acceptance  of  the  Cross,  and  the 
departure  for  the  East.  I  lost  all  interest,  however,  in  the 
carrying  out  of  this  dramatic  scheme  directly  I  discovered  its 
resemblance  to  the  subject-matter  of  the  ISTibelungen  and  Sieg- 
fried myths,  which  possessed  a  more  powerful  attraction  for  me. 
The  points  of  similarity  which  I  recognised  between  the  history 
and  the  legend  in  question  then  induced  me  to  write  a  treatise 
on  the  subject ;  and  in  this  I  was  assisted  by  some  stimulating 
monographs  (found  in  the  royal  library),  written  by  authors 
whose  names  have  now  escaped  my  memory,  but  which  taught 


THE   NIBELUNGEN   MYTH  457 

me  in  a  very  attractive  manner  a  considerable  amount  about  the 
old  original  kingdom  of  Germany.  Later  on  I  published  this 
fairly  extensive  essay  with  the  title  of  Die  Nibelungen,  but  in 
working  it  out  I  finally  lost  all  inclination  to  elaborate  the 
historical  material  for  a  real  drama. 

In  direct  connection  with  this  I  began  to  sketch'  a  clear 
summary  of  the  form  which  the  old  original  Nibelungen  myth 
had  assumed  in  my  mind  in  its  immediate  association  with  the 
mythological  legend  of  the  gods  —  a  form  which,  though  full 
of  detail,  was  yet  much  condensed  in  its  leading  features. 
Thanks  to  this  work,  I  was  able  to  convert  the  chief  part  of  the 
material  itself  into  a  musical  drama.  It  was  only  by  degrees, 
however,  and  after  long  hesitation  that  I  dared  to  enter  more 
deeply  into  my  plans  for  this  work;  for  the  thought  of  the 
practical  realisation  of  such  a  work  on  our  stage  literally 
appalled  me.  I  must  confess  that  it  required  all  the  despair 
which  I  then  felt  of  ever  having  the  chance  of  doing  anything 
more  for  our  theatre,  to  give  me  the  necessary  courage  to 
begin  upon  this  new  work.  Until  that  time  I  simply  allowed 
myself  to  drift,  while  I  meditated  listlessly  upon  the  possibility 
of  things  pursuing  their  course  further  under  the  existing  cir- 
cumstances. In  regard  to  Lohengrin,  I  had  got  to  that  point 
when  I  hoped  for  nothing  more  than  the  best  possible  production 
of  it  at  the  Dresden  theatre,  and  felt  that  I  should  have  to  be 
satisfied  in  all  respects,  and  for  all  time,  if  I  were  able  to  achieve 
even  that.  I  had  duly  announced  the  completion  of  the  score  to 
Herr  von  Liittichau ;  but,  in  consideration  of  the  unfavourable 
nature  of  my  circumstances  at  the  time,  I  had  left  it  entirely 
to  him  to  decide  when  my  work  should  be  produced. 

Meanwhile  the  time  arrived  when  the  keeper  of  the  Archives 
of  the  Royal  Orchestra  called  to  mind  that  it  was  just  three 
hundred  years  since  this  royal  institution  had  been  founded, 
and  that  a  jubilee  would  therefore  have  to  be  celebrated.  To 
this  end  a  great  concert  festival  was  planned,  the  programme 
of  which  was  to  be  made  up  of  the  compositions  of  all  the  Saxon 
orchestral  conductors  that  had  lived  since  the  institution  had 
been  founded.  The  whole  body  of  musicians,  with  both  their 
conductors  at  their  head,  were  first  to  present  their  grateful 
homage  to  the  King  in  Pillnitz ;  and  on  this  occasion  a  musician 


458  MY   LIFE 

was,  for  the  first  time,  to  be  elevated  to  the  rank  of  Knight  of 
the  Civil  Order  of  Merit  of  Saxony.  This  musician  was  my 
colleague  Reissiger.  Until  then  he  had  been  treated  by  the 
court,  and  by  the  manager  himself,  in  the  most  scornful  manner 
possible,  but  had,  owing  to  his  conspicuous  loyalty  at  this 
critical  time,  especially  to  me,  found  exceptional  favour  in 
the  eyes  of  our  committees.  When  he  appeared  before  the 
public  decorated  with  the  wonderful  order,  he  was  greeted 
with  great  jubilation  by  the  loyal  audience  that  filled  the  theatre 
on  the  evening  of  the  festival  concert.  His  overture  to  Yelva 
was  also  received  with  a  perfect  uproar  of  enthusiastic  applause, 
such  as  had  never  fallen  to  his  lot;  whereas  the  finale  of 
the  first  act  from  Lohengrin,  which  was  produced  as  the  work 
of  the  youngest  conductor,  was  accorded  only  an  indifferent 
reception.  This  was  all  the  more  strange  as  I  was  quite  un- 
accustomed to  such  coolness  in  regard  to  my  work  on  the  part 
of  the  Dresden  public.  Following  upon  the  concert,  there  was 
a  festive  supper,  and  when  this  was  over,  as  all  kinds  of  speeches 
were  being  made,  I  freely  proclaimed  to  the  orchestra,  in  a  loud 
and  decided  tone,  my  views  as  to  what  was  desirable  for  their 
perfection  in  the  future.  Hereupon  Marschner,  who,  as  a  former 
musical  conductor  in  Dresden,  had  been  invited  to  the  jubilee 
celebrations,  expressed  the  opinion  that  I  should  do  myself  a 
great  deal  of  harm  by  holding  too  good  an  opinion  of  the 
musicians.  He  said  I  ought  just  to  consider  how  uncultivated 
these  people  were  with  whom  I  had  to  deal ;  he  pointed  out  that 
they  were  trained  simply  for  the  one  instrument  they  played; 
and  asked  me  whether  I  did  not  think  that  by  discoursing  to 
them  on  the  aspirations  of  art  I  would  produce  not  only  con- 
fusion, but  even  perhaps  bad  blood  ?  Far  more  pleasant  to 
me  than  these  festivities  is  the  remembrance  of  the  quiet 
memorial  ceremony  which  united  us  on  the  morning  of  the 
Jubilee  Day,  with  the  object  of  placing  wreaths  on  Weber's 
grave.  As  nobody  could  find  a  word  to  utter,  and  even 
Marschner  was  able  to  give  expression  only  to  the  very  driest 
and  most  trivial  of  speeches  about  the  departed  master,  I  felt 
it  incumbent  upon  me  to  say  a  few  heartfelt  words  concerning 
the  memorial  ceremony  for  which  we  were  gathered  together. 
This  brief  spell  of  artistic  activity  was  speedily  broken  by 


459 

fresh  excitements,  which  kept  pouring  in  upon  us  from  the 
political  world.  The  events  of  October  in  Vienna  awakened 
our  liveliest  .sympathy,  and  our  walls  daily  blazed  with  red 
and  black  placards,  with  summonses  to  march  on  Vienna,  with 
the  curse  of  '  lied  Monarchy,'  as  opposed  to  the  hated  '  lied 
Republic./  and  with  other  equally  startling  matter.  Except 
for  those  who  were  best  informed  as  to  the  course  of  events  — 
and  who  certainly  did  not  swarm  in  our  streets  —  these  occur- 
rences aroused  great  uneasiness  everywhere.  With  the  entry 
of  \Yindischgratz  into  Vienna,  the  acquittal  of  Frobel  and  the 
execution  of  Blum,  it  seemed  as  though  even  Dresden  were 
on  the  eve  of  an  explosion.  A  vast  demonstration  of  mourning 
was  organised  for  Blum,  with  an  endless  procession  through 
the  streets.  At  the  head  marched  the  ministry,  among  whom 
the  people  were  particularly  glad  to  see  Herr  von  der  Pfordten 
taking  a  sympathetic  share  in  the  ceremony,  as  he  had  already 
become  an  object  of  suspicion  to  them.  From  that  day 
gloomy  forebodings  of  disaster  grew  ever  more  prevalent  on 
every  side.  People  even  went  so  far  as  to  say,,  with  little 
attempt  at  circumlocution,  that  the  execution  of  Blum  had 
been  an  act  of  friendship  on  the  part  of  the  Archduchess  Sophia 
to  her  sister,  the  Queen  of  Saxony,  for  during  his  agitation  in 
Leipzig  the  man  had  made  himself  both  hated  and  feared. 
Troops  of  Viennese  fugitives,  disguised  as  members  of  the  stu- 
dent bands,  began  to  arrive  in  Dresden,  and  made  a  formidable 
addition  to  its  population,  which  from  this  time  forth  paraded 
the  stTeirtS^wttn~eYeT*Tncreasing  confidence.  One  day,  as  I 
was  on  my  way  to  the  theatre  to  conduct  a  performance  of 
Rienzi,  the  choir-master  informed  me  that  several  foreign 
gentlemen  had  been  asking  for  me.  Thereupon  half  a  dozen 
persons  presented  themselves,  greeted  me  as  a  brother  democrat, 
and  begged  me  to  procure  them  free  ent ranee  tickets.  Ainon^ 
them  I  recognised  a  former  dabbler  in  literature,  a  man  named 
Hafner,  a  little  hunchback,  in  a  Calabrian  hat  cocked  at  a 
terrific  angle,  to  whom  I  had  been  introduced  by  Uhl  on  the 
occasion  of  my  visit  to  the  Vienna  political  club.  Great  as 
was  my  embarrassment  at  this  visit,  which  evidently  astonished 
our  musicians,  I  felt  in  no  wise  compelled  to  make  any  com- 
promising admission,  but  quietly  went  to  the  booking-office. 


460  MY   LIFE 

took  six  tickets  and  handed  them  to  my  strange  visitors,  who 
parted  from  me  before  all  the  world  with  much  hearty  shaking 
of  hands.  Whether  this  evening  call  improved  my  position  as 
musical  conductor  in  Dresden  in  the  minds  of  the  theatrical 
officials  and  others,  may  well  be  doubted ;  but,  at  all  events,  on 
no  occasion  was  I  so  frantically  called  for  after  every  act  as  at 
this  particular  performance  of  Rienzi. 

Indeed,  at  this  time  I  seemed  to  have  won  over  to  my  side  a 
party  of  almost  passionate  adherents  among  the  theatre-going 
public,  in  opposition  to  the  clique  which  had  shown  such 
marked  coldness  on  the  occasion  of  the  gala  concert  already 
mentioned.  It  mattered  not  whether  Tannhduser  or  Rienzi  were 
being  played,  I  was  always  greeted  with  special  applause ;  and 
although  the  political  tendencies  of  this  party  may  have  given 
our  management  some  cause  for  alarm,  yet  it  forced  them  to 
regard  me  with  a  certain  amount  of  awe.  One  day  Liittichau 
proposed  to  have  my  Lohengrin  performed  at  an  early  date. 
I  explained  my  reasons  for  not  having  offered  it  to  him  before, 
but  declared  myself  ready  to  further  his  wishes,  as  I  considered 
the  opera  company  was  now  sufficiently  powerful.  The  son 
of  my  old  friend,  F.  Heine,  had  just  returned  from  Paris,  where 
he  had  been  sent  by  the  Dresden  management  to  study  scene- 
painting  under  the  artists  Desplechin  and  Dieterle.  By  way 
of  testing  his  powers,  with  a  view  to  an  engagement  at  the 
Dresden  Royal  Theatre,  the  task  of  preparing  suitable  scenery 
for  this  opera  was  entrusted  to  him.  He  had  already  asked 
permission  to  do  this  for  Lohengrin  at  the  instigation  of 
Liittichau,  who  wished  to  call  attention  to  my  latest  work. 
Consequently,  when  I  gave  my  consent,  young  Heine's  wish  was 
granted. 

I  regarded  this  turn  of  events  with  no  little  satisfaction, 
believing  that  in  the  study  of  this  particular  work  I  should 
find  a  wholesome  and  effective  diversion  from  all  the  excite- 
ment and  confusion  of  recent  events.  My  horror,  therefore, 
was  all  the  greater,  when  young  Wilhelm  Heine  one  day  came 
to  my  room  with  the  news  that  the  scenery  for  Lohengrin  had 
been  suddenly  countermanded,  and  instructions  given  him  to 
prepare  for  another  opera.  I  did  not  make  any  remark,  nor 
ask  the  reason  for  this  singular  behaviour.  The  assurances 


SIEGFRIED'S   TOD  4G1 

which  Liittichau  afterwards  made  to  my  wife  —  if  they  were 
really  true  —  made  me  regret  having  laid  the  chief  blame  for 
this  mortification  at  his  door,  and  having  thereby  irrevocably 
alienated  my  sympathy  from  him.  When  she  asked  him  about 
this  many  years  later,  he  assured  her  that  he  had  found  the 
court  vehemently  hostile  to  me,  and  that  his  well-meant 
attempts  to  produce  my  work  had  met  with  insuperable 
obstacles. 

However  that  may  have  been,  the  Jbitterness  I  now  experi- 
enced  wrought  a  decisive  effect  upon  my  feelings.  Not  only 
did  I  relinquish  all  hope  of  a  reconciliatiou  with  the  theatre 
authorities  by  a  splendid  production  of  my  Lolu'nfjrin,  Imt  I 
determined  to  turn  my  back  for  ever  on  the  theatre,  and  to 
make  no  further~"aLteiiipt  tU'minlcHe*""ttrith"~ifs  concerns. 'By  this 
act  I  expressed  not  merely  my  utter  indifference  as  to  whether 
I  kept  my  position  as  musical  conductor  or  no,  but  my  artistic 
ambitions  also  entirely  cut  me  off  from  all  possibility  of  ever 
cultivating  modern  theatrical  conditions  again. 

I  at  once  proceeded  to  execute  my  long-cherished  plans  for 
Siegfried's  Tod,  which  I  had  been  half  afraid  of  before.  In 
this  work  I  no  longer  gave  a  thought  to  the  Dresden  or  any 
other  court  theatre  in  the  world;  my  sole  preoccupation  was 
to  produce  something  that  should  free  me,  once  and  for  all, 
from  this  irrational  subservience.  As  I  could  get  nothing 
more  from  Rockel  in  this  connection,  I  now  corresponded 
exclusively  with  Eduard  Devrient  on  matters  connected  with 
the  theatre  and  dramatic  art.  When,  on  the  completion  of 
my  poem,  I  read  it  to  him,  he  listened  with  amazement,  and 
at  once  realised  the  fact  that  such  a  production  would  be  an 
absolute  drug  in  the  modern  theatrical  market,  and  he  natur- 
ally could  not  agree  to  let  it  remain  so.  On  the  other  hand,  he 
tried  so  far  to  reconcile  himself  to  my  work  as  to  try  and  make 
it  less  startling  and  more  adapted  for  actual  production.  He 
proved  the  sincerity  of  his  intentions  by  pointing  out  my  error  in 
asking  too  much  of  the  public,  and  requiring  it  to  supply  from 
its  own  knowledge  many  things  necessary  for  a  right  under- 
standing of  my  subject-matter,  at  which  I  had  only  hinted  in 
brief  and  scattered  suggestions.  He  showed  me,  for  instance, 
that  before  Siegfried  and  Brunhilda  are  displayed  in  a  position 


462  MY   LIFE 

of  bitter  hostility  towards  each  other,  they  ought  first  to  have 
been  presented  in  their  true  and  calmer  relationship.  I  had, 
in  fact,  opened  the  poem  of  Siegfried's  Tod  with  those  scenes 
which  now  form  the  first  act  of  the  Gotterdammerung. 
The  details  of  Siegfried's  relation  to  Brunhilda  had  been 
merely  outlined  to  the  listeners  in  a  lyrico-episodical  dialogue 
between  the  hero's  wife,  whom  he  had  left  behind  in  solitude, 
and  a  crowd  of  Valkyries  passing  before  her  rock.  To  my 
great  joy,  Devrient's  hint  on  this  point  directed  my  thoughts 
to  those  scenes  which  I  afterwards  worked  out  in  the  prologue 
of  this  drama. 

This  and  other  matters  of  a  similar  nature  brought  me  into 
intimate  contact  with  Eduard  Devrient,  and  made  our  inter- 
course much  more  lively  and  pleasant.  He  often  invited  a 
select  circle  of  friends  to  attend  dramatic  readings  at  his  house 
in  which  I  gladly  took  part,  for  I  found,  to  my  surprise,  that 
his  gift  for  declamation,  which  quite  forsook  him  on  the  stage, 
here  stood  out  in  strong  relief.  It  was,  moreover,  a  consolation 
to  pour  into  a  sympathetic  ear  my  worries  about  my  growing 
unpopularity  with  the  director.  Devrient  seemed  particularly 
anxious  to  prevent  a  definite  breach;  but  of  this  there  was 
little  hope.  With  the  approach  of  winter  the  court  had  re- 
turned to  town,  and  once  more  frequented  the  theatre,  and 
various  signs  of  dissatisfaction  in  high  quarters  with  my  be- 
haviour as  conductor  began  to  be  manifested.  On  one  occasion 
the  Queen  thought  that  I  had  conducted  Norma  badly,  and  on 
another  that  I  '  had  taken  the  time  wrongly '  in  Robert  the 
Devil.  As  Liittichau  had  to  communicate  these  reprimands  to 
me,  it  was  natural  that  our  intercourse  at  such  times  should 
hardly  be  of  a  nature  to  restore  our  mutual  satisfaction  with 
each  other. 

Notwithstanding  all  this,  it  still  seemed  possible  to  prevent 
matters  from  coming  to  a  crisis,  though  everything  continued 
in  a  state  of  agitating  uncertainty  and  fermentation.  At  all 
events  the  forces  of  reaction,  which  were  holding  themselves 
in  readiness  on  every  side,  were  not  yet  sufficiently  certain  that 
the  hour  of  their  triumph  had  come  as  not  to  consider  it  advis- 
able for  the  present,  at  least,  to  avoid  all  provocation.  Conse- 
quently our  management  did  not  meddle  with  the  musicians 


THE   ORCHESTRA   UNION  463 

of  the  royal  orchestra,  who,  in  obedience  to  the  spirit  of  the 
times,  had  formed  a  union  for  debate  and  the  protection  of 
their  artistic  and  civic  interests.  In  this  matter  one  of  our 
youngest  musicians,  Theodor  Uhlig,  had  been  particularly 
active.  He  was  a  young  man,  still  in  his  early  twenties,  and 
was  a  violinist  in  the  orchestra.  His  face  was  strikingly  mild, 
intelligent  and  noble,  and  he  was  conspicuous  among  his 
fellows  on  account  of  his  great  seriousness  and  his  quiet  but 
unusually  firm  character.  He  had  particularly  attracted  my 
notice  on  several  occasions  by  his  quick  insight  and  extensive 
knowledge  of  music.  As  I  recognised  in  him  a  spirit  keenly  alert 
in  every  direction,  and  unusually  eager  for  culture,  it  was  not 
long  before  I  chose  him  as  my  companion  in  my  regular  walks 
—  a  habit  I  still  continued  to  cultivate  —  and  on  which  Rockel 
had  hitherto  accompanied  me.  He  induced  me  to  come  to 
a  meeting  of  this  union  of  the  orchestral  company,  in  order 
that  I  might  form  an  opinion  about  it,  and  encourage  and 
support  so  praiseworthy  a  movement.  On  this  occasion  I 
communicated  to  its  members  the  contents  of  my  memoran- 
dum to  the  director,  which  had  been  rejected  a  year  before, 
and  in  which  I  had  made  suggestions  for  reforms  in  the  band, 
and  I  also  explained  further  intentions  and  plans  arising  there- 
from. At  the  same  time  I  was  obliged  to  confess  that  I  had 
lost  all  hope  of  carrying  out  any  projects  of  the  kind  through 
the  general  management,  and  must  therefore  recommend  them 
to  take  the  initiative  vigorously  into  their  own  hands.  They 
acclaimed  the  idea  with  enthusiastic  approval.  Although,  as 
I  have  said  before,  Liittichau  left  these  musicians  unmolested 
in  their  more  or  less  democratic  union,  yet  he  took  care  to  be 
informed  through  spies  of  what  took  place  at  their  highly 
treasonable  gatherings.  His  chief  instrument  was  a  bugler 
named  Lewy,  who,  much  to  the  disgust  of  all  his  comrades 
in  the  orchestra,  was  in  particularly  high  favour  with  the 
director.  He  consequently  received  precise,  or  rather  exagger- 
ated, accounts  of  my  appearance  there,  and  thought  it  waa 
now  high  time  to  let  me  once  more  feel  the  weight  of  his 
authority.  I  was  officially  summoned  to  his  presence,  and 
had  to  listen  to  a  long  and  wrathful  tirade  which  he  had  been 
bottling  up  for  some  time  about  several  matters.  I  also  learned 


464  MY   LIFE 

that  he  knew  all  about  the  plan  of  theatre  reform  which  I 
had  laid  before  the  ministry.  This  knowledge  he  betrayed  in 
a  popular  Dresden  phrase,  which  until  then  I  had  never  heard ; 
he  knew  very  well,  he  said,  that  in  a  memorandum  respecting 
the  theatre  I  had  '  made  him  look  ridiculous  '  (ihm  an  den  Laden 
gelegt}.  In  answer  to  this  I  did  not  refrain  from  telling  him 
how  I  intended  to  act  in  retaliation,  and  when  he  threatened 
to  report  me  to  the  King  and  demand  my  dismissal,  I  calmly 
replied  that  he  might  do  as  he  pleased,  as  I  was  well  assured 
that  I  could  rely  on  his  Majesty's  justice  to  hear,  not  only  his 
charges,  but  also  my  defence.  Moreover,  I  added,  this  was  the 
only  befitting  manner  for  me  to  discuss  with  the  King  the  many 
points  on  which  I  had  to  complain,  not  only  in  my  own  interests, 
but  also  in  those  of  the  theatre  and  of  art.  This  was  not 
pleasant  hearing  for  Liittichau,  and  he  asked  how  it  was  possible 
for  him  to  try  and  co-operate  with  me,  when  I  for  my  part  had 
openly  declared  (to  use  his  own  expression)  that  all  labour  was 
wasted  upon  him  (Hopfen  und  Malz  verloren  seien).  We  had 
at  last  to  part  with  mutual  shruggings  of  the  shoulder.  My 
conduct  seemed  to  trouble  my  former  patron,  and  he  therefore 
enlisted  the  tact  and  moderation  of  Eduard  Devrient  in  his 
service,  and  asked  him  to  use  his  influence  with  me  to  facilitate 
some  further  arrangement  between  us.  But,  in  spite  of  all 
his  zeal,  Devrient  had  to  admit  with  a  smile,  after  we  had 
discussed  his  message,  that  nothing  much  could  be  done;  and 
as  I  persisted  in  my  refusal  to  meet  the  director  again  in  con- 
sultation respecting  the  service  of  the  theatre,  he  had  at  last 
to  recognise  that  his  own  wisdom  would  have  to  help  him  out 
of  the  difficulty. 

Throughout  the  whole  period  during  which  I  was  fated  to 
fill  the  post  of  conductor  at  Dresden,  the  effects  of  this  dislike 
on  the  part  of  the  court  and  the  director  continued  to  make 
themselves  felt  in  everything.  The  orchestral  concerts,  which 
had  been  organised  by  me  in  the  previous  winter,  were  this  year 
placed  under  Reissiger's  control,  and  at  once  sank  to  the  usual 
level  of  ordinary  concerts.  Public  interest  quickly  waned,  and 
the  undertaking  could  only  with  difficulty  be  kept  alive.  In 
opera  I  was  unable  to  carry  out  the  proposed  revival  of  the 
Fliegender  Hollander,  for  which  I  had  found  in  Mitterwurzer's 


TYKANNY  465 

maturer  talent  an  admirable  and  promising  exponent.  My 
niece  Johanna,  whom  I  had  destined  for  the  part  of  Senta, 
did  not  like  the  role,  because  it  offered  little  opportunity 
for  splendid  costumes.  She  preferred  Zampa  and  Favorita, 
partly  to  please  her  new  protector,  my  erstwhile  Rienzi  en- 
thusiast, Tichatschek,  partly  for  the  sake  of  three  brilliant 
costumes  which  the  management  had  to  furnish  for  each  of 
these  parts.  In  fact,  these  two  ringleaders  of  the  Dresden 
opera  of  that  day  had  formed  an  alliance  of  rebellion  against 
my  vigorous  rule  in  the  matter  of  operatic  repertoire.  Their 
opposition,  to  my  great  discomfiture,  was  crowned  by  success 
when  they  secured  the  production  of  this  Favorita  of  Donizetti's, 
the  arrangement  of  which  I  had  once  been  obliged  to  undertake 
for  Schlesinger  in  Paris.  I  had  at  first  emphatically  refused 
to  have  anything  to  do  with  this  opera,  although  its  principal 
part  suited  my  niece's  voice  admirably,  even  in  her  father's 
judgment.  But  now  that  they  knew  of  my  feud  with  the 
director,  and  of  my  voluntary  loss  of  influence,  and  finally  of 
my  evident  disgrace,  they  thought  the  opportunity  ripe  for 
compelling  me  to  conduct  this  tiresome  work  myself,  as  it 
happened  to  be  my  turn. 

Besides  this,  my  chief  occupation  at  the  royal  theatre  during 
this  period  consisted  in  conducting  Flotow's  opera  Martha, 
which,  although  it  failed  to  attract  the  public,  was  nevertheless 
produced  with  excessive  frequency,  owing  to  its  convenient 
cast.  On  reviewing  the  results  of  my  labours  in  Dresden  — 
where  I  had  now  been  nearly  seven  years  —  I  could  not  help 
feeling  humiliated  when  I  considered  the  powerful  and  ener- 
getic impetus  I  knew  I  had  given  in  many  directions  to  the 
court  theatre,  and  I  found  myself  obliged  to  confess  that,  were 
I  now  to  leave  Dresden,  not  the  smallest  trace  of  my  influence 
would  remain  behind.  From  various  signs  I  also  gathered 
that,  if  ever  it  should  come  to  a  trial  before  the  King  between 
the  director  and  myself,  even  if  his  Majesty  were  in  my  favour, 
yet  out  of  consideration  for  the  courtier  the  verdict-  would  go 
against  me. 

Nevertheless,  on  Palm  Sunday  of  the  new  year,  1849,  I 
received  ample  amends.  In  order  to  ensure  liberal  receipts,  « >i  i  r 
orchestra  had  again  decided  to  produce  Beethoven's  Ninth 


466  MY   LIFE 

Symphony.  Every  one  did  his  utmost  to  make  this  one  of 
our  finest  performances,  and  the  public  took  up  the  matter 
with  real  enthusiasm.  Michael  Bakunin,  unknown  to  the  police, 
had  been  present  at  the  public  rehearsal.  At  its  close  he  walked 
unhesitatingly  up  to  me  in  the  orchestra,  and  said  in  a  loud 

/  voice,  that  if  all  the  music  that  had  ever  been  written  were 
lost  in  the  expected  world-wide  conflagration,  we  must  pledge 
ourselves  to  rescue  this  symphony,  even  at  the  peril  of  our  lives. 

\Not  many  weeks  after  this  performance  it  really  seemed  as 
though  this  world-wide  conflagration  would  actually  be  kindled 
in  the  streets  of  Dresden,  and  that  Bakunin,with  whom  I  had 
meanwhile  become  more  closely  associated  through  strange 
and  unusual  circumstances,  would  undertake  the  office  of  chief 
stoker. 

It  was  long  before  this  date  that  I  first  made  the  acquaintance 
of  this  most  remarkable  man,  Eor  years  I  had  come  across 
his  name  in  the  newspapers,  and  always  under  extraordinary 
circumstances.  He  turned  up  in  Paris  at  a  Polish  gather- 
ing, but  although  he  was  a  Russian,  he  declared  that  it  mattered 
little  whether  a  man  were  a  Russian  or  a  Pole,  so  long  as  he 
wanted  to  be  a  free  man,  and  that  this  was  all  that  mattered. 
I  heard  afterwards,  through  George  Herwegh,  that  he  had 
renounced  all  his  sources  of  income  as  a  member  of  an  influential 
Russian  family,  and  that  one  day,  when  his  entire  fortune 
consisted  of  two  francs,  he  had  given  them  away  to  a  beggar 
on  the  boulevard,  because  it  was  irksome  to  him  to  be  bound 
by  this  possession  to  take  any  thought  for  the  morrow.  I  was 
informed  of  his  presence  in  Dresden  one  day  by  Rockel,  after 
the  latter  had  become  a  rampant  republican.  He  had  taken 
the  Russian  into  his  house,  and  invited  me  to  come  and  make 
his  acquaintance.  Bakunin  was  at  that  time  being  persecuted 
by  the  Austrian  government  for  his  share  in  the  events  which 
took  place  in  Prague  in  the  summer  of  1848,  and  because  he  was 
a  member  of  the  Slav  Congress  which  had  preceded  them. 
He  had  consequently  sought  refuge  in  our  city,  as  he  did  not 
wish  to  settle  too  far  from  the  Bohemian  frontier.  The  extra- 
ordinary sensation  he  had  created  in  Prague  arose  from  the  fact 
that,  when  the  Czechs  sought  the  protection  of  Russia  against 
the  dreaded  Germanising  policy  of  Austria,  he  conjured  them 


BAKUNIN  467 

to  defend  themselves  with  fire  and  sword  against  those  very 
Russians,  and  indeed  against  any  other  people  who  lived  under 
the  rule  of  a  despotism  like  that  of  the  Tsars.  This  superficial 
acquaintance  with  Bakunin's  aims  had  sufficed  to  change  the 
purely  national  prejudices  of  the  Germans  against  him  into 
sympathy.  When  I  met  him,  therefore,  under  the  humble 
shelter  of  Rockel's  roof,  I  was  immediately  struck  by  his  singular 
and  altogether  imposing  personality.  He  was  in  the  full  bloom 
of  manhood,  anywhere  between  thirty  and  forty  years  of  age. 
Everything  about  him  was  colossal,  and  he  was  full  of  a  primi- 
tive exuberance  and  strength.  I  never  gathered  that  he  set 
much  store  by  my  acquaintance.  Indeed,  he  did  not  seem 
to  care  for  merely  intellectual  men;  what  he  demanded  was 
men  of  reckless  energy.  As  I  afterwards  perceived,  theory 
in  this  case  had  more  weight  with  him  than  purely  personal 
sentiment ;  and  he  talked  much  and  expatiated  freely  on  the 
matter.  His  general  mode  of  discussion  was  the  Socratic 
method,  and  he  seemed  quite  at  his  ease  when,  stretched  on 
his  host's  hard  sofa,  he  could  argue  discursively  with  a  crowd 
of  all  sorts  of  men  on  the  problems  of  revolution.  On  these 
occasions  he  invariably  got  the  best  of  the  argument.  It  was 
impossible  to  triumph  against  his  opinions,  stated  as  they  were 
with  the  utmost  conviction,  and  overstepping  in  every  direction 
even  the  extremest  bounds  of  radicalism.  So  communicative 
was  he,  that  on  the  very  first  evening  of  our  meeting  he  gave 
me  full  details  about  the  various  stages  of  his  development 
He  was  a  Russian  officer  of  high  birth,  but  smarting  under  the 
yoke  of  the  narrowest  martial  tyranny,  he  had  been  led  by  a 
study  of  Rousseau's  writings  to  escape  to  Germany  under  pre- 
tence of  taking  furlough.  In  Berlin  he  had  flung  himself  into 
the  study  of  philosophy  with  all  the  zest  of  a  barbarian  newly 
awakened  to  civilisation.  Hegel's  philosophy  was  the  one  which 
was  the  rage  at  that  moment,  and  he  soon  became  such  an 
expert  in  it,  that  he  had  been  able  to  hurl  that  master's  most 
famous  disciples  from  the  saddle  of  their  own  philosophy,  in  a 
thesis  couched  in  terms  of  the  strictest  Hegelian  dialectic. 
After  he  had  got  philosophy  off  his  chest,  as  he  expressed  it, 
he  proceeded  to  Switzerland,  where  he  preached  communism, 
and  thence  wandered  over  France  and  Germany  back  to  the 


468  MY   LIFE 

borderland  of  the  Slav  world,  from  which  quarter  he  looked 
for  the  regeneration  of  humanity,  because  the  Slavs  had  been 
less  enervated  by  civilisation.  His  hopes  in  this  respect  were 
centred  in  the  more  strongly  pronounced  Slav  type  character- 
istic of  the  Russian  peasant  class.  In  the  natural  detestation 
of  the  Russian  serf  for  his  cruel  oppressor  the  nobleman,  he 
believed  he  could  trace  a  substratum  of  simple-minded  brotherly 
love,  and  that  instinct  which  leads  animals  to  hate  the  men 
who  hunt  them.  In  support  of  this  idea  he  cited  the  childish, 
almost  demoniac  delight  of  the  Russian  people  in  fire,  a  quality 
on  which  Rostopschin  calculated  in  his  strategic  burning  of 
Moscow.  He  argued  that  all  that  was  necessary  to  set  in 
motion  a  world-wide  movement  was  to  convince  the  Russian 
peasant,  in  whom  the  natural  goodness  of  oppressed  human 
nature  had  preserved  its  most  childlike  characteristics,  that 
it  was  perfectly  right  and  well  pleasing  to  God  for  them  to  burn 
their  lords'  castles,  with  everything  in  and  about  them  The 
least  that  could  result  from  such  a  movement  would  be  the 
destruction  of  all  those  things  which,  rightly  considered,  must 
appear,  even  to  Europe's  most  philosophical  thinkers,  the  real 
source  of  all  the  misery  of  the  modern  world.  To  set  these 
destructive  forces  in  action  appeared  to  him  the  only  object 
worthy  of  a  sensible  man's  activity.  (Even  while  he  was 
preaching  these  horrible  doctrines,  Bakunin,  noticing  that  my 
eyes  troubled  me,  shielded  them  with  his  outstretched  hand 
from  the  naked  light  for  a  full  hour,  in  spite  of  my  protesta- 
tions.) This  annihilation  of  all  civilisation  was  the  goal  upon 
which  his  heart  was  set.  Meanwhile  it  amused  him  to  utilise 
every  lever  of  political  agitation  he  could  lay  hands  on  for  the 
advancement  of  this  aim,  and  in  so  doing  he  often  found  cause 
for  ironical  merriment.  In  his  retreat  he  received  people  be- 
longing to  every  shade  of  revolutionary  thought.  Nearest  to 
him  stood  those  of  Slav  nationality,  because  these,  he  thought, 
would  be  the  most  convenient  and  effective  weapons  he  could 
use  in  the  uprooting  of  Russian  despotism.  In  spite  of  their 
republic  and  their  socialism  a  la  Proudhon,  he  thought  nothing 
of  the  French,  and  as  for  the  Germans,  he  never  mentioned 
them  to  me.  Democracy,  republicanism,  and  anything  else 
of  the  kind  he  regarded  as  unworthy  of  serious  consideration. 


BAKUNIN  '460 

Every  objection  raised  by  those  who  had  the  slightest  wish  to 
reconstruct  what  had  been  demolished,  he  met  with  over- 
whelming criticism.  I  well  remember  on  one  occasion  that  a 
Pole,  startled  by  his  theories,  maintained  that  there  must  be 
an  organised  state  to  guarantee  the  individual  in  the  possession 
of  the  fields  he  had  cultivated.  <  What ! '  he  answered ;  '  would 
you  carefully  fence  in  your  field  to  provide  a  livelihood  for  the 
police  again !  '  This  shut  the  mouth  of  the  terrified  Pole.  He 
comforted  himself  by  saying  that  the  creators  of  the  new  order 
of  things  would  arise  of  themselves,  but  that  our  sole  business 
in  the  meantime  was  to  find  the  power  to  destroy.  Was  anv 
one  of  us  so  mad  as  to  fancy  that  he  would  survive  the  desired 
destruction?  We  ought  to  imagine  the  whole  of  Europe  with 
St.  Petersburg,  Paris,  and  London  transformed  into  a  vast 
rubbish-heap.  How  could  we  expect  the  kindlers  of  such  a 
fire  to  retain  any  consciousness  after  so  vast  a  devastation? 
He  used  to  puzzle  any  who  professed  their  readiness  for  self- 
sacrifice  by  telling  them  it  was  not  the  so-called  tyrants  who 
were  so  obnoxious,  but  the  smug  Philistines.  As  a  type  of  these 
he  pointed  to  a  Protestant  parson,  and  declared  that  he  would 
not  believe  he  had  really  reached  the  full  stature  of  a  man  until 
he  saw  him  commit  his  own  parsonage,  with  his  wife  and  child, 
to  the  flames. 

I  was  all  the  more  perplexed  for  a  while,  in  the  face  of  such 
dreadful  ideas,  by  the  fact  that  Bakunin  in  other  respects  proved 
a  really  amiable  and  tender-hearted  man.  He  was  fully  alive 
to  my  own  anxiety  and  despair  with  regard  to  the  risk  I  ran 
of  forever  destroying  mv  ideals  and  hopes  for  the  future  of 
art.  It  is  true,  lie  declined  to  receive  any  further  instruction 
concerning  these  artistic  schemes,  and  would  not  even  look 
at  my  work  on  the  JNibelungen  saga.  I  had  just  then  been 
inspired  by  a  study  of  the  Gospels  to  conceive  the  plan  of  a 
tragedy  for  the  ideal  stage  of  the  future,  entitled  Jesus  of 
Nazareth.  Bakunin  begged  me  to  spare  him  any  details;  and 
when  I  sought  to  win  him  over  to  my  project  by  a  few  verbal 
hints,  he  wished  me  luck,  but  insisted  that  I  must  at  all  costa 
make  Jesus  appear  as  a  weak  character.  As  for  the  music 
of  the  piece,  he  advised  me,  amid  all  the  variations,  to  use  only 
one  set  of  phrases,  namely :  for  the  tenor,  '  Off  with  His  head ! ' ; 


470  MY   LIFE 

for  the  soprano,  '  Hang  Him ! ' ;  and  for  the  bnsso  contimio, 
'Fire!  fire!'  And  yet  I  felt  more  sympathetically  drawn 
towards  this  prodigy  of  a  man  when  I  one  day  induced  him  to 
hear  me  play  and  sing  the  first  scenes  of  luy  Fliegender 
Hollander.  After  listening  with  more  attention  than  most 
people  gave,  he  exclaimed,  during  a  momentary  pause,  '  That  is 
stupendously  fine ! '  and  wanted  to  hear  more. 

As  his  life  of  permanent  concealment  was  very  dull,  I  occa- 
sionally invited  him  to  spend  an  evening  with  me.  For  supper 
my  wife  set  before  him  finely  cut  slices  of  sausage  and  meat, 
which  he  at  once  devoured  wholesale,  instead  of  spreading 
them  frugally  on  his  bread  in  Saxon  fashion.  Noticing  Minna's 
alarm  at  this,  I  was  guilty  of  the  weakness  of  telling  him  how 
we  were  accustomed  to  consume  such  viands,  whereupon  he 
reassured  me  with  a  laugh,  saying  that  it  was  quite  enough, 
only  he  would  like  to  eat  what  was  set  before  him  in  his  own 
way.  I  was  similarly  astonished  at  the  manner  in  which  he 
drank  wine  from  our  ordinary-sized  small  glasses.  As  a  matter 
of  fact  he  detested  wine,  which  only  satisfied  his  craving  for 
alcoholic  stimulants  in  such  paltry,  prolonged,  and  subdivided 
doses;  whereas  a  stiff  glass  of  brandy,  swallowed  at  a  gulp, 
at  once  produced  the  same  result,  which,  after  all,  was  only 
temporarily  attained.  Above  all,  he  scorned  the  sentiment 
which  seeks  to  prolong  enjoyment  by  moderation,  arguing  that 
a  true  man  should  only  strive  to  still  the  cravings  of  nature,  and 
that  the  only  real  pleasure  in  life  worthy  of  a  man  was  love. 

These  and  other  similar  little  characteristics  showed  clearly 
that  in  this  remarkable  man  the  purest  impulses  of  an  ideal 
humanity  conflicted  strangely  with  a  savagery  entirely  inimical 
to  all  civilisation,  so  that  my  feelings  during  my  intercourse 
with  him  fluctuated  between  involuntary  horror  and  irresistible 
attraction.  I  frequently  called  for  him  to  share  my  lonely 
wanderings.  This  he  gladly  did,  not  only  for  the  sake  of 
necessary  bodily  exercise,  but  also  because  he  could  do  so  in  this 
part  of  the  world  without  fear  of  meeting  his  pursuers.  My 
attempts  during  our  conversations  to  instruct  him  more  fully 
regarding  my  artistic  aims  remained  quite  unavailing  as  long 
as  we  were  unable  to  quit  the  field  of  mere  discussion.  All 
these  things  seemed  to  him  premature.  He  refused  to  admit 


BAKUNIN 


471 


that  out  of  the  very  needs  of  the  evil  present  all  laws  for  the 
future  would  have  to  be  evolved,  and  that  these,  moreover,  must 
be  moulded  upon  quite  different  ideas  of  social  culture.  Seeing 
that  he  continued  to  urge  destruction,  and  again  destruction, 
I  had  at  last  to  inquire  how  my  wonderful  friend  proposed  to 
set  this  work  of  destruction  in  operation.  It  then  soon  became 
clear,  as  I  had  suspected  it  would,  and  as  the  event  soon  proved, 
that  with  this  man  of  boundless  activity  everything  rested 
upon  the  most  impossible  hypotheses.  Doubtless  I,  with  my 
hopes  of  a  future  artistic  remodelling  of  human  society,  ap- 
peared to  him  to  be  floating  in  the  barren  air;  yet  it  soon 
became  obvious  to  me  that  his  assumptions  as  to  the  unavoid- 
able demolition  of  all  the  institutions  of  culture  were  at  least 
equally  visionary.  My  first  idea  was  that  Bakunin  was  the 
centre  of  an  international  conspiracy;  but  his  practical  plans 
seem  originally  to  have  been  restricted  to  a  project  for  revolu- 
tionising Prague,  where  he  relied  merely  on  a  union  formed 
among  a  handful  of  students.  Believing  that  the  time  had 
now  come  to  strike  a  blow,  he  prepared  himself  one  evening 
to  go  there.  This  proceeding  was  not  free  from  danger,  and 
he  set  off  under  the  protection  of  a  passport  made  out  for  an 
English  merchant.  First  of  all,  however,  with  the  view  of 
adapting  himself  to  the  most  Philistine  culture,  he  had  to  sub- 
mit his  huge  beard  and  bushy  hair  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the 
razor  and  shears.  As  no  barber  was  available,  Kockel  had  to 
undertake  the  task.  A  small  group  of  friends  watched  the 
operation,  which  had  to  be  executed  with  a  dull  razor,  causing 
no  little  pain,  under  which  none  but  the  victim  himself  remained 
passive.  We  bade  farewell  to  Bakunin  with  the  firm  conviction 
that  we  should  never  see  him  again  alive.  But  in  a  week  he 
was  back  once  more,  as  he  had  realised  immediately  what  a 
distorted  account  he  had  received  as  to  the  state  of  things  in 
Prague,  where  all  he  found  ready  for  him  was  a  mere  handful 
of  childish  students.  These  admissions  made  him  the  butt 
of  RockePs  good-humoured  chaff,  and  after  this  he  won  the 
reputation  among  us  of  being  a  mere  revolutionary,  who  was 
content  with  theoretical  conspiracy.  Very  similar  to  hi* 
expectations  from  the  Prague  students  were  his  presumption-; 
with  regard  to  the  Russian  people.  These  also  afterwards 


472  MY   LIFE 

proved  to  be  entirely  groundless,  and  based  merely  on  gratuitous 
assumptions  drawn  from  the  supposed  nature  of  things.  I 
consequently  found  myself  driven  to  explain  the  universal 
belief  in  the  terrible  dangerousness  of  this  man  by  his  theo- 
retical views,  as  expressed  here  and  elsewhere,  and  not  as 
arising  from  any  actual  experience  of  his  practical  activity. 
But  I  was  soon  to  become  almost  an  eye-witness  of  the  fact 
that  his  personal  conduct  was  never  for  a  moment  swayed  by 
prudence,  such  as  one  is  accustomed  to  meet  in  those  whose 
theories  are  not  seriously  meant.  This  was  shortly  to  be  proved 
in  the  momentous  insurrection  of  May,  1849. 

The  winter  of  this  year,  up  to  the  spring  of  1849,  passed  in 
a  many-sided  development  of  my  position  and  temper,  as  I 
have  described  them,  that  is  to  say,  in  a  sort  of  dull  agitation. 
My  latest  artistic  occupation  had  been  the  five-act  drama, 
Jesus  of  Nazareth,  just  mentioned.  Henceforth  I  lingered  on 
in  a  state  of  brooding  instability,  full  of  expectation,  yet  with- 
out any  definite  wish.  I  felt  fully  convinced  that  my  activity 
in  Dresden,  as  an  artist,  had  come  to  an  end,  and  I  was  only 
waiting  for  the  pressure  of  circumstances  to  shake  myself  free. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  whole  political  situation,  both  in  Saxony 
and  the  rest  of  Germany,  tended  inevitably  towards  a  catas- 
trophe. Day  by  day  this  drew  nearer,  and  I  flattered  myself 
into  regarding  my  own  personal  fate  as  interwoven  with  this 
universal  unrest.  Now  that  the  powers  of  reaction  were  every- 
where more  and  more  openly  bracing  themselves  for  conflict, 
the  final  decisive  struggle  seemed  indeed  close  at  hand.  My 
feelings  of  partisanship  were  not  sufficiently  passionate  to  make 
me  desire  to  take  any  active  share  in  these  conflicts.  I  was 
merely  conscious  of  an  impulse  to  give  myself  up  recklessly  to 
the  stream  of  events,  no  matter  whither  it  might  lead. 

Just  at  this  moment,  however,  an  entirely  new  influence 
forced  itself  in  a  most  strange  fashion  into  my  fortunes,  and 
was  at  first  greeted  by  me  with  a  smile  of  scepticism.  Liszt 
wrote  announcing  an  early  production  in  "Weimar  of  my  Tann- 
Jiduser  under  his  own  conductorship  —  the  first  that  had  taken 
place  outside  Dresden  —  and  he  added  with  great  modesty  that 
this  was  merely  a  fulfilment  of  his  own  personal  desire.  In 
order  to  ensure  success  he  had  sent  a  special  invitation  to 


TANNHAUSER   AT    WEIMAR  473 

Tichatschek  to  be  his  guest  for  the  two  first  performances. 
When  the  latter  returned  he  said  that  the  production  had,  on 
the  whole,  been  a  success,  which  surprised  me  very  much.  I 
received  a  gold  snuff-box  from  the  Grand  Duke  as  a  keepsake, 
which  I  continued  to  use  until  the  year  1864.  All  this  was  new 
and  strange  to  me,  and  I  was  still  inclined  to  regard  this  other- 
wise agreeable  occurrence  as  a  fleeting  episode,  due  to  the 
friendly  feeling  of  a  great  artist.  '  What  does  this  mean  for 
me  ? '  I  asked  myself.  '  Has  it  come  too  early  or  too  late  ? ' 
But  a  very  cordial  letter  from  Liszt  induced  me  to  visit  Weimar 
for  a  few  days  later  on,  for  a  third  performance  of  Tannhduser, 
which  was  to  be  carried  out  entirely  by  native  talent,  with  a 
view  to  the  permanent  addition  of  this  opera  to  the  repertoire. 
For  this  purpose  I  obtained  leave  of  absence  from  my  manage- 
ment for  the  second  week  in  May. 

Only  a  few  days  elapsed  before  the  execution  of  this  little 
plan;  but  they  were  destined  to  be  momentous  ones.  On  the 
1st  of  May  the  Chambers  were  dissolved  by  the  new  Beust 
ministry,  which  the  King  had  charged  with  carrying  out  his 
proposed  reactionary  policy.  This  event  imposed  upon  me 
the  friendly  task  of  caring  for  Rockel  and  his  family.  Hitherto 
his  position  as  a  deputy  had  shielded  him  from  the  danger 
of  criminal  prosecution;  but  as  soon  as  the  Chambers  were 
dissolved  this  protection  was  withdrawn,  and  he  had  to  escape 
by  flight  from  being  arrested  again.  As  I  could  do  little  to  help 
him  in  this  matter,  I  promised  at  least  to  provide  for  the  con- 
tinued publication  of  his  popular  Volksblatt,  mainly  because 
the  proceeds  from  this  would  support  his  family.  Scarcely 
was  Rockel  safely  across  the  Bohemian  frontier,  while  I  was 
still  toiling  at  great  inconvenience  to  myself  in  the  printer's 
office,  in  order  to  provide  material  for  an  issue  of  his  paper, 
when  the  long-expected  storm  burst  over  Dresden.  Emergency 
deputations,  nightly  mob  demonstrations,  stormy  meetings  of 
the  various  unions,  and  all  the  other  signs  that  precede  a  swift 
decision  in  the  streets,  manifested  themselves.  On  the  3rd 
May  the  demeanour  of  the  crowds  moving  in  our  thoroughfares 
plainly  showed  that  this  consummation  would  soon  be  reached, 
as  was  undoubtedly  desired.  Each  local  deputation  which 
petitioned  for  the  recognition  of  the  German  constitution, 


474  MY   LIFE 

which  was  the  universal  cry,  was  refused  an  audience  by  the 
government,  and  this  with  a  peremptoriness  which  at  last  be- 
came startling.  I  was  present  one  afternoon  at  a  committee 
meeting  of  the  Vaterlands-Verein,  although  merely  as  a  repre- 
sentative of  Rockel's  VolTcsblatt,  for  whose  continuance,  both 
from  economic  as  well  as  humane  motives,  I  felt  pledged. 
Here  I  was  at  once  absorbed  in  watching  the  conduct  and 
demeanour  of  the  men  whom  popular  favour  had  raised  to  the 
leadership  of  such  unions.  It  was  quite  evident  that  events  had 
passed  beyond  the  control  of  these  persons;  more  particularly 
were  they  utterly  at  a  loss  as  to  how  to  deal  with  that  peculiar 
terrorism  exerted  by  the  lower  classes  which  is  always  so  ready 
to  react  upon  the  representatives  of  democratic  theories.  On 
every  side  I  heard  a  medley  of  wild  proposals  and  hesitating 
responses.  One  of  the  chief  subjects  under  debate  was  the 
necessity  of  preparing  for  defence.  Arms,  and  how  to  procure 
them,  were  eagerly  discussed,  but  all  in  the  midst  of  great 
disorder;  and  when  at  last  they  discovered  that  it  was  time 
to  break  up,  the  only  impression  I  received  was  one  of  the 
wildest  confusion.  I  left  the  hall  with  a  young  painter  named 
Kaufmann,  from  whose  hand  I  had  previously  seen  a  series  of 
cartoons  in  the  Dresden  Art  Exhibition,  illustrating  '  The  His- 
tory of  the  Mind.'  One  day  I  had  seen  the  King  of  Saxony 
standing  before  one  of  these,  representing  the  torture  of  a  heretic 
under  the  Spanish  Inquisition,  and  observed  him  turn  away  with 
a  disapproving  shake  of  the  head  from  so  abstruse  a  subject. 
I  was  on  my  way  home,  deep  in  conversation  with  this  man, 
whose  pale  face  and  troubled  look  betrayed  that  he  foresaw 
the  disaster  that  was  imminent,  when,  just  as  we  reached  the 
Postplatz,  near  the  fountain  erected  from  Semper's  design,  the 
clang  of  bells  from  the  neighbouring  tower  of  St.  Arm's  Church 
suddenly  sounded  the  tocsin  of  revolt.  With  a  terrified  cry, 
'  Good  God,  it  has  begun ! '  my  companion  vanished  from  my 
side.  He  wrote  to  me  afterwards  to  say  that  he  was  living 
as  a  fugitive  in  Berne,  but  I  never  saw  his  face  again. 

The  clang  of  this  bell,  so  close  at  hand,  made  a  profound 
impression  upon  me  also.  It  was  a  very  sunny  afternoon,  and 
I  at  once  noticed  the  same  phenomenon  which  Goethe  describes 
in  his  attempt  to  depict  his  own  sensations  during  the  bom- 


THE   TOCSIN    OF   KEVOLT  475 

bardment  of  Valmy.  The  whole  square  looked  as  though  it 
were  illuminated  by  a  dark  yellow,  almost  brown,  light,  such 
as  I  had  once  before  seen  in  Magdeburg  during  an  eclipse  of 
the  sun.  My  most  pronounced  sensation  beyond  this  was  one 
of  great,  almost  extravagant,  satisfaction.  I  felt  a  sudden 
strange  longing  to  play  with  something  hitherto  regarded  as 
dangerous  and  important  My  first  idea,  suggested  probably 
by  the  vicinity  of  the  square,  was  to  inquire  at  Tichatschek's 
house  for  the  gun  which,  as  an  enthusiastic  Sunday  sportsman, 
he  was  accustomed  to  use.  I  only  found  his  wife  at  home,  as 
he  was  away  on  a  holiday  tour.  Her  evident  terror  as  to  what 
was  going  to  happen  provoked  me  to  uncontrollable  laughter. 
I  advised  her  to  lodge  her  husband's  gun  in  a  place  of  safety, 
by  handing  it  to  the  committee  of  the  Vaterlands-Verein  in 
return  for  a  receipt,  as  it  might  otherwise  soon  be  requisitioned 
by  the  mob.  I  have  since  learned  that  my  eccentric  behaviour 
on  this  occasion  was  afterwards  reckoned  against  me  as  a 
serious  crime.  I  then  returned  to  the  streets,  to  see  whether 
anything  beyond  a  ringing  of  bells  and  a  yellowish  eclipse  of 
the  sun  might  be  going  on  in  the  town.  I  first  made  my  way 
to  the  Old  Market-place,  where  I  noticed  a  group  of  men 
gathered  round  a  vociferous  orator.  It  was  also  an  agreeable  sur- 
prise to  me  to  see  Schroder-Devrient  descending  at  the  door  of 
a  hotel.  She  had  just  arrived  from  Berlin,  and  was  keenly 
excited  by  the  news  which  had  reached  her,  that  the  populace 
had  already  been  fired  upon.  As  she  had  only  recently  seen 
an  abortive  insurrection  crushed  by  arms  in  Berlin,  she  was 
indignant  to  find  the  same  things  happening  in  her  'peaceful 
Dresden/  as  she  termed  it. 

When  she  turned  to  me  from  the  stolid  crowd,  which  had 
complacently  been  listening  to  her  passionate  outpourings,  she 
seemed  relieved  at  finding  some  one  to  whom  she  could  appeal 
to  oppose  these  horrible  proceedings  with  all  his  might.  I 
met  her  on  another  occasion  at  the  house  of  my  old  friend 
Heine,  where  she  had  taken  refuge.  When  she  noticed  my 
indifference  she  again  adjured  me  to  use  every  possible  effort 
to  prevent  the  senseless,  suicidal  conflict.  I  heard  afterwards 
that  a  charge  of  high  treason  on  account  of  sedition  had  been 
brought  against  Schroder-Devrient  by  reason  of  her  conduct 


476  MY   LIFE 

in  regard  to  this  matter.  She  had  to  prove  her  innocence  in 
a  court  of  law,  so  as  to  establish  beyond  dispute  her  claim  to 
the  pension  which  she  had  been  promised  by  contract  for  her 
many  years'  service  in  Dresden  as  an  opera-singer. 

On  the  3rd  of  May  I  betook  myself  direct  to  that  quarter  of 
the  town  where  I  heard  unpleasant  rumours  of  a  sanguinary 
conflict  having  taken  place.  I  afterwards  learned  that  the 
actual  cause  of  the  dispute  between  the  civil  and  military  power 
had  arisen  when  the  watch  had  been  changed  in  front  of  the 
Arsenal.  At  that  moment  the  mob,  under  a  bold  leader,  had 
seized  the  opportunity  to  take  forcible  possession  of  the 
armoury.  A  display  of  military  force  was  made,  and  the 
crowd  was  fired  upon  by  a  few  cannon  loaded  with  grape-shot. 
As  I  approached  the  scene  of  operations  through  the  Kampische 
Gasse,  I  met  a  company  of  the  Dresden  Communal  Guards, 
who,  although  they  were  quite  innocent,  had  apparently  been 
exposed  to  this  fire.  I  noticed  that  one  of  the  citizen  guards, 
leaning  heavily  on  the  arm  of  a  comrade,  was  trying  to  hurry 
along,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  his  right  leg  seemed  to  be  drag- 
ging helplessly  behind  him.  Some  of  the  crowd,  seeing  the 
blood  on  the  pavement  behind  him,  shouted  '  He  is  bleeding.' 
In  the  midst  of  this  excitement  I  suddenly  became  conscious  of 
the  cry  raised  on  all  sides :  '  To  the  barricades !  to  the  barri- 
cades ! '  Driven  by  a  mechanical  impulse  I  followed  the  stream 
of  people,  which  moved  once  more  in  the  direction  of  the  Town 
Hall  in  the  Old  Market-place.  Amid  the  terrific  tumult  I  par- 
ticularly noticed  a  significant  group  stretching  right  across  the 
street,  and  striding  along  the  Rosmaringasse.  It  reminded  me, 
though  the  simile  was  rather  exaggerated,  of  the  crowd  that  had 
once  stood  at  the  doors  of  the  theatre  and  demanded  free  en- 
trance to  Rienzi;  among  them  was  a  hunchback,  who  at  once 
suggested  Goethe's  Vansen  in  Egmont,  and  as  the  revolutionary 
cry  rose  about  his  ears,  I  saw  him  rub  his  hands  together  in 
great  glee  over  the  long-desired  ecstasy  of  revolt  which  he  had 
realised  at  last 

I  recollect  quite  clearly  that  from  that  moment  I  was  at- 
tracted by  surprise  and  interest  in  the  drama,  without  feeling 
any  desire  to  join  the  ranks  of  the  combatants.  However,  the 
agitation  caused  by  my  sympathy  as  a  mere  spectator  increased 


AT   THE   TOWN   HALL  477 

with  every  step  I  felt  impelled  to  take.  I  was  able  to  press 
right  into  the  rooms  of  the  town  council,  escaping  notice  in  the 
tumultuous  crowd,  and  it  seemed  to  me  as  if  the  officials  were 
guilty  of  collusion  with  the  mob.  I  made  my  way  unobserved 
into  the  council-chamber;  what  I  saw  there  was  utter  disorder 
and  confusion.  When  night  fell  I  wandered  slowly  through 
the  hastily  made  barricades,  consisting  chiefly  of  market  stalls, 
back  to  my  house  in  the  distant  Friedrichstrasse,  and  next 
morning  I  again  watched  these  amazing  proceedings  with  sym- 
pathetic interest. 

On  Thursday,  4th  May,  I  could  see  that  the  Town  Hall  was 
gradually  becoming  the  undoubted  centre  of  the  revolution. 
That  section  of  the  people  who  had  hoped  for  a  peaceful  under- 
standing with  the  monarch  was  thrown  into  the  utmost  con- 
sternation by  the  news  that  the  King  and  his  whole  court,  acting 
on  the  advice  of  his  minister  Beust,  had  left  the  palace,  and  had 
gone  by  ship  down  the  Elbe  to  the  fortress  of  Konigstein.  In 
these  circumstances  the  town  council  saw  they  were  no  longer 
able  to  face  the  situation,  and  thereupon  took  part  in  summon- 
ing those  members  of  the  Saxon  Chamber  who  were  still  in 
Dresden.  These  latter  now  assembled  in  the  Town  Hall  to  de- 
cide what  steps  should  be  taken  for  the  protection  of  the  state. 
A  deputation  was  sent  to  the  ministry,  but  returned  with  the 
report  that  they  were  nowhere  to  be  found.  At  the  same  moment 
news  arrived  from  all  sides  that,  in  accordance  with  a  previous 
compact,  the  King  of  Prussia's  troops  would  advance  to  occupy 
Dresden.  A  general  outcry  immediately  arose  for  measures 
to  be  adopted  to  prevent  this  incursion  of  foreign  troops. 

Simultaneously  with  this,  came  the  intelligence  of  the  na- 
tional uprising  in  Wiirtemberg,  where  the  troops  themselves  had 
frustrated  the  intentions  of  the  government  by  their  declaration 
of  fidelity  to  the  parliament,  and  the  ministry  had  been  com- 
pelled against  their  will  to  acknowledge  the  Pan-German  Con- 
stitution. The  opinion  of  our  politicians,  who  were  assembled 
in  consultation,  was  that  the  matter  might  still  be  settled  by 
peaceful  means,  if  it  were  possible  to  induce  the  Saxon  troops 
to  take  up  a  similar  attitude,  as  by  this  means  the  King  would 
at  least  be  placed  under  the  wholesome  necessity  of  offering 
patriotic  resistance  to  the  Prussian  occupation  of  his  country. 


4Y8  MY   LIFE 

Everything  seemed  to  depend  on  making  the  Saxon  battalions 
in  Dresden  understand  the  paramount  importance  of  their 
action.  As  this  seemed  to  me  the  only  hope  of  an  honourable 
peace  in  this  senseless  chaos,  I  confess  that,  on  this  one  occasion, 
VI  did  allow  myself  to  be  led  astray  so  far  as  to  organise  a 
demonstration  which,  however,  proved  futile. 

I  induced  the  printer  of  Rockel's  Volksblatt,  which  was  for 
the  moment  at  a  standstill,  to  employ  all  the  type  he  would 
have  used  for  his  next  number,  in  printing  in  huge  characters 
on  strips  of  paper  the  words:  Seid  Ihr  mit  uns  gegen  fremde 
Truppen?  ('  Are  you  on  our  side  against  the  foreign  troops  ? '). 
Placards  bearing  these  words  were  fixed  on  those  barricades 
which  it  was  thought  would  be  the  first  to  be  assaulted,  and 
were  intended  to  bring  the  Saxon  troops  to  a  halt  if  they  were 
commanded  to  attack  the  revolutionaries.  Of  course  no  one 
took  any  notice  of  these  placards  except  intending  informers. 
On  that  day  nothing  but  confused  negotiations  and  wild  excite- 
ment took  place  which  threw  no  light  on  the  situation.  The 
Old  Town  of  Dresden,  with  its  barricades,  was  an  interesting 
enough  sight  for  the  spectators.  I  looked  on  with  amazement 
and  disgust,  but  my  attention  was  suddenly  distracted  by 
seeing  Bakunin  emerge  from  his  hiding-place  and  wander 
among  the  barricades  in  a  black  frockcoat.  But  I  was  very 
much  mistaken  in  thinking  he  would  be  pleased  with  what  he 
saw;  he  recognised  the  childish  inefficiency  of  all  the  measures 
that  had  been  taken  for  defence,  and  declared  that  the  only 
satisfaction  he  could  feel  in  the  state  of  affairs  was  that  he  need 
not  trouble  about  the  police,  but  could  calmly  consider  the 
question  of  going  elsewhere,  as  he  found  no  inducement  to  take 
part  in  an  insurrection  conducted  in  such  a  slovenly  fashion. 
While  he  walked  about  smoking  his  cigar,  and  making  fun  of 
the  naivete  of  the  Dresden  revolution,  I  watched  the  Communal 
Guards  assembling  under  arms  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall  at  the 
summons  of  their  commandant.  From  the  ranks  of  its  most 
popular  corps,  the  Schiitzen-Compagnie,  I  was  accosted  by 
Rietschel,  who  was  most  anxious  about  the  nature  of  the  rising, 
and  also  by  Semper.  Rietschel,  who  seemed  to  think  I  was 
better  informed  of  the  facts  than  he  was,  assured  me  that  he 
felt  his  position  was  a  very  difficult  one.  He  said  the  select 


THE   PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT         479 

company  to  which  he  belonged  was  very  democratic,  and  as 
his  professorship  at  the  Fine  Arts  Academy  placed  him  in  a 
peculiar  position,  he  did  not  know  how  to  reconcile  the  senti- 
ments he  shared  with  his  company  with  his  duty  as  a  citizen. 
The  word  '  citizen '  amused  me ;  I  glanced  sharply  at  Semper 
and  repeated  the  word  '  citizen.'  Semper  responded  with  a 
peculiar  smile,  and  turned  away  without  further  comment. 

The  next  day  (Friday  the  5th  of  May),  when  I  again  took 
my  place  as  a  passionately  interested  spectator  of  the  pro- 
ceedings at  the  Town  Hall,  events  took  a  decisive  turn.  The 
remnant  of  the  leaders  of  the  Saxon  people  there  assembled 
thought  it  advisable  to  constitute  themselves  into  a  provisional 
government,  as  there  was  no  Saxon  government  in  existence 
with  which  negotiations  could  be  conducted.  Professor  Kochly, 
who  was  an  eloquent  speaker,  was  chosen  to  proclaim  the 
new  administration.  He  performed  this  solemn  ceremony 
from  the  balcony  of  the  Town  Hall,  facing  the  faithful  remnant 
of  the  Communal  Guards  and  the  not  very  numerous  crowd. 
At  the  same  time  the  legal  existence  of  the  Pan-German  Con- 
stitution was  proclaimed,  and  allegiance  to  it  was  sworn  by  the 
armed  forces  of  the  nation.  I  recollect  that  these  proceedings 
did  not  seem  to  me  imposing,  and  Bakunin's  reiterated  opinion 
about  their  triviality  gradually  became  more  comprehensible. 
Even  from  a  technical  point  of  view  these  reflections  were 
justified  when,  to  my  great  amusement  and  surprise,  Semper, 
in  the  full  uniform  of  a  citizen  guard,  with  a  hat  bedecked 
with  the  national  colours,  asked  for  me  at  the  Town  Hall,  and 
informed  me  of  the  extremely  faulty  construction  of  the  bar- 
ricades in  the  Wild  Strufergasse  and  the  neighbouring  Briider- 
gasse.  To  pacify  his  artistic  conscience  as  an  engineer  I 
directed  him  to  the  office  of  the  '  Military  Commission  for  the 
Defence.'  He  followed  my  advice  with  conscientious  satis- 
faction; possibly  he  obtained  the  necessary  authorisation  to 
give  instructions  for  the  building  of  suitable  works  of  defence 
at  that  neglected  point.  After  that  I  never  saw  him  again 
in  Dresden;  but  I  presume  that  he  carried  out  the  strategic 
works  entrusted  to  him  by  that  committee  with  all  the  con- 
scientiousness of  a  Michael  Angelo  or  a  Leonardo  da  Vinci. 

The  rest  of  the  day  passed  in  continuous  negotiations  over 


480  MY   LIFE 

the  truce  which,  by  arrangement  with  the  Saxon  troops,  was 
to  last  until  noon  of  the  next  day.  In  this  business  I  noticed 
the  very  pronounced  activity  of  a  former  college  friend,  Mar- 
schall  von  Bieberstein,  a  lawyer  who,  in  his  capacity  as  senior 
officer  of  the  Dresden  Communal  Guard,  distinguished  him- 
self by  his  boundless  zeal  amid  the  shouts  of  a  mighty  band  of 
fellow-orators.  On  that  day  a  certain  Heinz,  formerly  a  Greek 
colonel,  was  placed  in  command  of  the  armed  forces.  These  pro- 
ceedings did  not  seem  at  all  satisfactory  to  Bakunin,  who  put  in 
an  occasional  appearance.  While  the  provisional  government 
placed  all  its  hopes  on  finding  a  peaceful  settlement  of  the 
conflict  by  moral  persuasion,  he,  on  the  contrary,  with  his 
clear  vision  foresaw  a  well-planned  military  attack  by  the 
Prussians,  and  thought  it  could  only  be  met  by  good  strategic 
measures.  He  therefore  urgently  pressed  for  the  acquisition 
of  some  experienced  Polish  officers  who  happened  to  be  in 
Dresden,  as  the  Saxon  revolutionaries  appeared  to  be  abso- 
lutely lacking  in  military  tactics.  Everybody  was  afraid  to 
take  this  course;  on  the  other  hand,  great  expectations  were 
entertained  from  negotiations  with  the  Frankfort  States  As- 
sembly, which  was  on  its  last  legs.  Everything  was  to  be 
done  as  far  as  possible  in  legal  form.  The  time  passed  pleas- 
antly enough.  Elegant  ladies  with  their  cavaliers  promenaded 
the  barricaded  streets  during  those  beautiful  spring  evenings. 
It  seemed  to  be  little  more  than  an  entertaining  drama.  The 
unaccustomed  aspect  of  things  even  afforded  me  genuine  pleas- 
ure, combined  with  a  feeling  that  the  whole  thing  was  not 
quite  serious,  and  that  a  friendly  proclamation  from  the  gov- 
ernment would  put  an  end  to  it.  So  I  strolled  comfortably 
home  through  the  numerous  barricades  at  a  late  hour,  thinking 
as  I  went  of  the  material  for  a  drama,  Achilleus,  with  which 
I  had  been  occupied  for  some  time. 

At  home  I  found  my  two  nieces,  Clara  and  Ottilie  Brockhaus, 
the  daughters  of  my  sister  Louisa.  They  had  been  living  for 
a  year  with  a  governess  in  Dresden,  and  their  weekly  visits 
and  contagious  good  spirits  delighted  me.  Every  one  was  in 
a  high  state  of  glee  about  the  revolution;  they  all  heartily 
approved  of  the  barricades,  and  felt  no  scruples  about  desiring 
victory  for  their  defenders.  Protected  by  the  truce,  this  state 


THE   OPENING   OF   HOSTILITIES    (1849)     481 

of  mind  remained  undisturbed  the  whole  of  Friday  (5th  May). 
From  all  parts  came  news  which  led  us  to  believe  in  a  universal 
uprising  throughout  Germany.  Baden  and  the  Palatinate  were 
in  the  throes  of  a  revolt  on  behalf  of  the  whole  of  Germany. 
Similar  rumours  came  in  from  free  towns  like  Breslau.  In 
Leipzig,  volunteer  student  corps  had  mustered  contingents  for 
Dresden,  which  arrived  amid  the  exultation  of  the  populace. 
A  fully  equipped  defence  department  was  organised  at  the 
Town  Hall,  and  young  Heine,  disappointed  like  myself  in  his 
hopes  of  the  performance  of  Lohengrin/  had  also  joined  this 
body.  Vigorous  promises  of  support  came  from  the  Saxon 
Erzgebirge,  as  well  as  announcements  that  armed  contingents 
were  forthcoming.  Every  one  thought,  therefore,  that  if  only 
the  Old  Town  were  kept  well  barricaded,  it  could  safely  defy 
the  threat  of  foreign  occupation.  Early  on  Saturday,  6th  May, 
it  was  obvious  that  the  situation  was  becoming  more  serious. 
Prussian  troops  had  marched  into  the  New  Town,  and  the 
Saxon  troops,  which  it  had  not  been  considered  advisable  to 
use  for  an  attack,  were  kept  loyal  to  the  flag.  The  truce  expired 
at  noon,  and  the  troops,  supported  by  several  guns,  at  once 
opened  the  attack  on  one  of  the  principal  positions  held  by  the 
people  on  the  Neumarkt. 

So  far  I  had  entertained  no  other  conviction  than  that  the 
matter  would  be  decided  in  the  most  summary  fashion  as  soon 
as  it  came  to  an  actual  conflict,  for  there  was  no  evidence  in 
the  state  of  my  own  feelings  (or,  indeed,  in  what  I  was  able  to 
gather  independently  of  them)  of  that  passionate  seriousness 
of  purpose,  without  which  tests  as  severe  as  this  have  never 
been  successfully  withstood.  It  was  irritating  to  me,  while  I 
heard  the  sharp  rattle  of  fire,  to  be  unable  to  gather  anything 
of  what  was  going  on,  and  I  thought  by  climbing  the  Kn-u/. 
tower  I  might  get  a  good  view.  Even  from  this  elevation  I 
could  not  see  anything  clearly,  but  I  gathered  enough  to  satisfy 
myself  that  after  an  hour  of  heavy  firing  the  advance  artillery 
of  the  Prussian  troops  had  retired,  and  had  at  last  been  com- 
pletely silenced,  their  withdrawal  being  signalled  by  a  loud 
shout  of  jubilation  from  the  populace.  Apparently  the  first 
attack  had  exhausted  itself;  and  now  my  interest  in  what  \\:H 
going  on  began  to  assume  a  more  and  more  vivid  hue.  To 


482  MY   LIFE 

obtain  information  in  greater  detail  I  hurried  back  to  the  Town 
Hall.  I  could  extract  nothing,  however,  from  the  boundless 
confusion  which  I  met,  until  at  last  I  came  upon  Bakunin  in 
the  midst  of  the  main  group  of  speakers.  He  was  able  to  give 
me  an  extraordinarily  accurate  account  of  what  had  hap- 
pened. Information  had  reached  headquarters  from  a  barricade 
in  the  Neumarkt  where  the  attack  was  most  serious,  that 
everything  had  been  in  a  state  of  confusion  there  before  the  on- 
slaught of  the  troops;  thereupon  my  friend  Marschall  von 
Bieberstein,  together  with  Leo  von  Zichlinsky,  who  were  officers 
in  the  citizen  corps,  had  called  up  some  volunteers  and  con- 
ducted them  to  the  place  of  danger.  Kreis-Amtmann  Heubner 
of  Freiberg,  without  a  weapon  to  defend  himself,  and  with 
bared  head,  jumped  immediately  on  to  the  top  of  the  barricade, 
which  had  just  been  abandoned  by  all  its  defenders.  He  was 
the  sole  member  of  the  provisional  government  to  remain  on  the 
spot,  the  leaders,  Todt  and  Tschirner,  having  disappeared  at 
the  first  sign  of  a  panic.  Heubner  turned  round  to  exhort  the 
volunteers  to  advance,  addressing  them  in  stirring  words.  His 
success  was  complete,  the  barricade  was  taken  again,  and  a 
fire,  as  unexpected  as  it  was  fierce,  was  directed  upon  the 
troops,  which,  as  I  myself  saw,  were  forced  to  retire.  Bakunin 
had  been  in  close  touch  with  this  action,  he  had  followed 
the  volunteers,  and  he  now  explained  to  me  that  however  nar- 
row might  be  the  political  views  of  Heubner  (he  belonged  to  the 
moderate  Left  of  the  Saxon  Chamber),  he  was  a  man  of  noble 
character,  at  whose  service  he  had  immediately  placed  his  own 
life. 

Bakunin  had  only  needed  this  example  to  determine  his  own 
line  of  conduct ;  he  had  decided  to  risk  his  neck  in  the  attempt 
and  to  ask  no  further  questions.  Heubner  too  was  now  bound 
to  recognise  the  necessity  for  extreme  measures,  and  no  longer 
recoiled  from  any  proposal  on  the  part  of  Bakunin  wThich  was 
directed  to  this  end.  The  military  advice  of  experienced 
Polish  officers  was  brought  to  bear  on  the  commandant,  whose 
incapacity  had  not  been  slow  to  reveal  itself;  Bakunin,  who 
openly  confessed  that  he  understood  nothing  of  pure  strategy, 
never  moved  from  the  Town  Hall,  but  remained  at  Heubner's 
side,  giving  advice  and  information  in  every  direction  with 


MY   VIGIL   IN   THE   KREUZ   TOWER         483 

wonderful  sangfroid.  For  the  rest  of  the  day  the  battle  con- 
fined itself  to  skirmishes  by  sharpshooters  from  the  various 
positions.  I  was  itching  to  climb  the  Kreuz  tower  again,  so 
as  to  get  the  widest  possible  survey  over  the  whole  field  of 
action.  In  order  to  reach  this  tower  from  the  Town  Hall,  one 
had  to  pass  through  a  space  which  was  under  a  cross-fire  of 
rifle-shots  from  the  troops  posted  in  the  royal  palace.  At  a 
moment  when  this  square  was  quite  deserted,  I  yielded  to  my 
daring  impulse,  and  crossed  it  on  my  way  to  the  Kreuz  tower 
at  a  slow  pace,  remembering  that  in  such  circumstances  the 
young  soldier  is  advised  never  to  hurry,  because  by  so  doing 
he  may  draw  the  shot  upon  himself.  On  reaching  this  post  of 
vantage  I  found  several  people  who  had  gathered  there,  some 
of  them  driven  by  a  curiosity  like  my  own,  others  in  obedience 
to  an  order  from  the  headquarters  of  the  revolutionaries  to 
reconnoitre  the  enemy's  movements.  Amongst  them  I  made 
the  acquaintance  of  a  schoolmaster  called  Berthold,  a  man  of 
quiet  and  gentle  disposition,  but  full  of  conviction  and  deter- 
mination. I  lost  myself  in  an  earnest  philosophical  discussion 
with  him  which  extended  to  the  widest  spheres  of  religion.  At 
the  same  time  he  showed  a  homely  anxiety  to  protect  us  from 
the  cone-shaped  bullets  of  the  Prussian  sharpshooters  by  plac- 
ing us  ingeniously  behind  a  barricade  consisting  of  one  of  the 
straw  mattresses  which  he  had  cajoled  out  of  the  warder.  The 
Prussian  sharpshooters  were  posted  on  the  distant  tower  of 
the  Frauenkirche,  and  had  chosen  the  height  occupied  by  us 
as  their  target.  At  nightfall  I  found  it  impossible  to  make  up 
my  mind  to  go  home  and  leave  my  interesting  place  of  refuge, 
so  I  persuaded  the  warder  to  send  a  subordinate  to  Friedrich- 
stadt  with  a  few  lines  to  my  wife,  and  with  instructions  to  ask 
her  to  let  me  have  some  necessary  provisions.  Thus  I  spent 
one  of  the  most  extraordinary  nights  of  my  life,  taking  turns 
with  Berthold  to  keep  watch  and  sleep,  close  beneath  the  great 
bell  with  its  terrible  groaning  clang,  and  with  the  accompani- 
ment of  the  continuous  rattle  of  the  Prussian  shot  as  it  beat 
against  the  tower  walls. 

Sunday  (the  7th  of  May)  was  one  of  the  most  beautiful  days 
in  the  year.  I  was  awakened  by  the  song  of  a  nightingale,  which 
rose  to  our  ears  from  the  Schutze  garden  close  by.  A  sacred 


484  MY  LIFE 

calm  and  peacefulness  lay  over  the  town  and  the  wide  suburbs 
of  Dresden,  which  were  visible  from  my  point  of  vantage. 
Towards  sunrise  a  mist  settled  upon  the  outskirts,  and  suddenly 
through  its  folds  we  could  hear  the  music  of  the  Marseillaise 
making  its  way  clearly  and  distinctly  from  the  district  of  the 
Tharanderstrasse.  As  the  sound  drew  nearer  and  nearer,  the 
mist  dispersed,  and  the  glow  of  the  rising  sun  spread  a  glittering 
light  upon  the  weapons  of  a  long  column  which  was  winding 
its  way  towards  the  town.  It  was  impossible  not  to  feel  deeply 
impressed  at  the  sight  of  this  continuous  procession,.  Suddenly 
a  perception  of  that  element  which  I  had  so  long  missed  in  the 
German  people  was  borne  in  upon  me  in  all  its  essential  fresh- 
ness and  vital  colour.  The  fact  that  until  this  moment  I  had 
been  obliged  to  resign  myself  to  its  absence,  had  contributed 
not  a  little  to  the  feelings  by  which  I  had  been  swayed.  Here 
I  beheld  some  thousand  men  from  the  Erzgebirge,  mostly  miners, 
well  armed  and  organised,  who  had  rallied  to  the  defence  of 
Dresden.  Soon  we  saw  them  march  up  the  Altmarkt  opposite 
the  Town  Hall,  and  after  receiving  a  joyful  welcome,  bivouac 
there  to  recover  from  their  journey.  Reinforcements  continued 
to  pour  in  the  whole  day  long,  and  the  heroic  achievement  of 
the  previous  day  now  received  its  reward  in  the  shape  of  a 
universal  elevation  of  spirits.  A  change  seemed  to  have  been 
made  in  the  plan  of  attack  by  the  Prussian  troops.  This  could 
be  gathered  from  the  fact  that  numerous  simultaneous  attacks, 
but  of  a  less  concentrated  type,  were  made  upon  various  posi- 
tions. The  troops  which  had  come  to  reinforce  us  brought 
with  them  four  small  cannon,  the  property  of  a  certain  Herr 
Thade  von  Burgk,  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made  before  on 
the  occasion  of  the  anniversary  of  the  founding  of  the  Dresden 
Choral  Society,  when  he  had  made  a  speech  which  was  well 
intentioned  but  wearisome  to  the  point  of  being  ludicrous. 
The  recollection  of  this  speech  returned  to  me  with  peculiar 
irony,  now  that  his  cannon  were  being  fired  from  the  barricade 
upon  the  enemy.  I  felt  a  still  deeper  impression,  however, 
when,  towards  eleven  o'clock,  I  saw  the  old  Opera  House,  in 
which  a  few  weeks  ago  I  had  conducted  the  last  performance 
of  the  Ninth  Symphony,  burst  into  flames.  As  I  have  had 
occasion  to  mention  before,  the  danger  from  fire  to  which  this 


THE    OLD    OPERA   HOUSE  IN   FLAMES      485 

building  was  exposed,  full  as  it  was  with  wood  and  all  kind  of 
textile  fabric,  and  originally  built  only  for  a  temporary  pur- 
pose, had  always  been  a  subject  of  terror  and  apprehension  to 
those  who  visited  it. 

I  was  told  that  the  Opera  House  had  been  set  alight  on  strate- 
gical grounds,  in  order  to  face  a  dangerous  attack  on  this  ex- 
posed side,  and  also  to  protect  the  famous  *  Semper '  barricade 
from  an  overpowering  surprise.     From  this  I  concluded  that 
reasons  of  this  kind  act  as  far  more  powerful  motives  in  the 
world  than  aesthetic  considerations.     For  a  long  time  men  of 
taste  had  vainly  cried  aloud  for  abolition  of  this  ugly  building 
which  was  such  an  eyesore  by  the  side  of  the  elegant  propor- 
tions of  the  Zwinger  Gallery  in  its  neighbourhood.     In  a  few 
moments  the  Opera  House  (which  as  regards  size  was,  it  is 
true,  an  imposing  edifice),  together  with  its  highly  inflammable 
contents,  was  a  vast  sea  of  flames.     When  this  reached  the 
metal  roofs  of  the  neighbouring  wings  of  the  Zwinger,  and 
enveloped  them  in  wonderful  bluish  waves  of  fire,  the  first 
expression  of  regret  made  itself  audible  amongst  the  spectators. 
What  a  disaster!     Some  thought  that  the  Natural  History  col- 
lection was   in   danger;     others  maintained   that  it  was  the 
Armoury,  upon  which  a  citizen  soldier  retorted  that  if  such 
were  the  case,  it  would  be  a  very  good  job  if  the  l  stuffed  noble- 
men '  were  burnt  to  cinders.    But  it  appeared  that  a  keen  sense 
of  the  value  of  art  knew  how  to  curb  the  fire's  lust  for  further 
dominion,  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  did  but  little  damage  in 
that  quarter.    Finally  our  post  of  observation,  which  until  now 
had  remained  comparatively  quiet,  was  filled  itself  with  swarms 
and  swarms  of  armed  men,  who  had  been  ordered  thither  to 
defend  the  approach  from  the  church  to  the  Altmarkt,  upon 
which  an  attack  was  feared  from  the  side  of  the  ill-secured 
Kreuzgasse.     Unarmed  men  were  now  in  the  way;    moreover, 
I  had  received  a  message  from  my  wife  summoning  me  home 
after  the  long  and  terrible  anxiety  she  had  suffered. 

At  last,  after  meeting  with  innumerable  obstacles  and  over- 
coming a  host  of  difficulties,  I  succeeded,  by  means  of  all  sorts 
of  circuitous  routes,  in  reaching  my  remote  suburb,  from  which 
I  was  cut  off  by  the  fortified  portions  of  the  town,  and  especially 
by  a  cannonade  directed  from  the  Zwinger.  My  lodgings  were 


486  MY   LIFE 

full  to  overflowing  with  excited  women  who  had  collected  round 
Minna ;  among  them  the  panic-stricken  wife  of  Rockel,  who  sus- 
pected her  husband  of  being  in  the  very  thick  of  the  fight,  as  she 
thought  that  on  the  receipt  of  the  news  that  Dresden  had  risen  he 
would  probably  have  returned.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  I  had 
heard  a  rumour  that  Rockel  had  arrived  on  this  very  day,  but  as 
yet  I  had  not  obtained  a  glimpse  of  him.  My  young  nieces 
helped  once  more  to  raise  my  spirits.  The  firing  had  put  them 
into  a  high  state  of  glee,  which  to  some  extent  infected  my  wife, 
as  soon  as  she  was  reassured  as  to  my  personal  safety.  All  of 
them  were  furious  with  the  sculptor  Hanel,  who  had  never 
ceased  insisting  upon  the  expedience  of  bolting  the  house  to  pre- 
vent an  entry  of  the  revolutionaries.  All  the  women  without 
exception  were  joking  about  his  abject  terror  at  the  sight  of 
some  men  armed  with  scythes  who  had  appeared  in  the  street  In 
this  way  Sunday  passed  like  a  sort  of  family  jollification. 

On  the  following  morning  (Monday,  8th  May)  I  tried  again 
to  get  information  as  to  the  state  of  affairs  by  forcing  my  way 
to  the  Town  Hall  from  my  house,  which  was  cut  off  from  the 
place  of  action.  As  in  the  course  of  my  journey  I  was  making 
my  way  over  a  barricade  near  St.  Ann's  Church,  one  of  the 
Communal  Guard  shouted  out  to  me,  '  Hullo,  conductor, 
your  der  Freude  schoner  Gotterfuriken  l  has  indeed  set  fire  to 
things.  The  rotten  building  is  rased  to  the  ground.'  Obvi- 
ously the  man  was  an  enthusiastic  member  of  the  audience 
at  my  last  performance  of  the  Ninth  Symphony.  Coming  upon 
me  so  unexpectedly,  this  pathetic  greeting  filled  me  with  a 
curious  sense  of  strength  and  freedom.  A  little  further  on, 
in  a  lonely  alley  in  the  suburb  of  Plauen,  I  fell  in  with  the 
musician  Hiebendahl,  the  first  oboist  in  the  royal  orchestra, 
and  a  man  who  still  enjoyed  a  very  high  reputation ;  he  was  in 
the  uniform  of  the  Communal  Guards,  but  carried  no  gun,  and 
was  chatting  with  a  citizen  in  a  similar  costume.  As  soon  as  he 
saw  me,  he  felt  he  must  immediately  make  an  appeal  to  me  to 
use  my  influence  against  Rockel,  who,  accompanied  by  ordnance 
officers  of  the  revolutionary  party,  was  instituting  a  search  for 
guns  in  this  quarter.  As  soon  as  he  realised  that  I  was  making 

1  These  words  refer  to  the  opening  of  the  Ninth  Symphony  chorus: 
'Freude,  Freude,  Freude,  schoner  gotterfunken  Tochter  aus  Elysium'  — 
(Praise  her,  praise  oh  praise  Joy,  the  god-descended  daughter  of  Elysium.) 
English  version  by  Natalia  Macfarren.  —  EDITOR. 


ROCKEL   IN   ACTION  487 

sympathetic  inquiries  about  Rockel,  he  drew  back  frightened, 
and  said  to  me  in  tones  of  the  deepest  anxiety :  '  But,  con- 
ductor, have  you  no  thought  for  your  position,  and  what  you 
may  lose  by  exposing  yourself  in  this  fashion  ? '  This  remark 
had  the  most  drastic  effect  upon  me ;  I  burst  into  a  loud  laugh, 
and  told  him  that  my  position  was  not  worth  a  thought  one 
way  or  the  other.  This  indeed  was  the  expression  of  my  real 
feelings,  which  had  long  been  suppressed,  and  now  broke  out 
into  almost  jubilant  utterance.  At  that  moment  I  caught  sight 
of  Rockel,  with  two  men  of  the  citizen  army  who  were  carrying 
some  guns,  making  his  way  towards  me.  He  gave  me  a  most 
friendly  greeting,  but  turned  at  once  to  Hiebendahl  and  his  com- 
panion and  asked  him  why  he  was  idling  about  here  in  uniform 
instead  of  being  at  his  post.  When  Hiebendahl  made  the 
excuse  that  his  gun  had  been  requisitioned,  Rockel  cried  out  to 
him,  '  You  're  a  fine  lot  of  fellows ! '  and  went  away  laughing. 
He  gave  me  a  brief  account  as  we  proceeded  of  what  had  hap- 
pened to  him  since  I  had  lost  sight  of  him,  and  thus  spared  me 
the  obligation  of  giving  him  a  report  of  his  Volksblatt.  We  were 
interrupted  by  an  imposing  troop  of  well-armed  young  students 
of  the  gymnasium  who  had  just  entered  the  city  and  wished  to 
have  a  safe  conduct  to  their  place  of  muster.  The  sight  of  these 
serried  ranks  of  youthful  figures,  numbering  several  hundreds, 
who  were  stepping  bravely  to  their  duty,  did  not  fail  to  make 
the  most  elevating  impression  upon  me.  Rockel  undertook  to 
accompany  them  over  the  barricade  in  safety  to  the  mustering 
place  in  front  of  the  Town  Hall.  He  took  the  opportunity  of 
lamenting  the  utter  absence  of  true  spirit  which  he  had  hitherto 
encountered  in  those  in  command.  He  had  proposed,  in  case 
of  extremity,  to  defend  the  most  seriously  threatened  barri- 
cades by  firing  them  with  pitch  brands ;  at  the  mere  word  the 
provisional  government  had  fallen  into  a  veritable  state  of 
panic.  I  let  him  go  his  way  in  order  that  I  might  enjoy  the 
privilege  of  a  solitary  person  and  reach  the  Town  Hall  by  a 
short  cut,  and  it  was  not  until  thirteen  years  later  that  I  again 
set  eyes  upon  him. 

In  the  Town  Hall  I  learned  from  Bakunin  that  the  provisional 
government  had  passed  a  resolution,  on  his  advice,  to  abandon 
the  position  in  Dresden,  which  had  been  entirely  neglected 


488  MY   LIFE 

from  the  beginning,  and  was  consequently  quite  untenable  for 
any  length  of  time.  This  resolution  proposd  an  armed  retreat 
to  the  Erzgebirge,  where  it  would  be  possible  to  concentrate 
the  reinforcements  pouring  in  from  all  sides,  especially  from 
Thuringia,  in  such  strength,  that  the  advantageous  position 
could  be  used  to  inaugurate  a  German  civil  war  that  would 
sound  no  hesitating  note  at  its  outset.  To  persist  in  defending 
isolated  barricaded  streets  in  Dresden  could,  on  the  other  hand, 
lend  little  but  the  character  of  an  urban  riot  to  the  contest, 
although  it  was  pursued  with  the  highest  courage.  I  must 
confess  that  this  idea  seemed  to  me  magnificent  and  full  of 
meaning.  Up  to  this  moment  I  had  been  moved  only  by  a 
feeling  of  sympathy  for  a  method  of  procedure  entered  upon  at 
first  with  almost  ironical  incredulity,  and  then  pursued  with 
the  vigour  of  surprise.  Now,  however,  all  that  had  before 
seemed  incomprehensible,  unfolded  itself  before  my  vision  in 
the  form  of  a  great  and  hopeful  solution.  Without  either  feel- 
ing that  I  was  in  any  way  being  compelled,  or  that  it  was  my 
vocation  to  get  some  part  or  function  allotted  to  me  in  these 
events,  I  now  definitely  abandoned  all  consideration  for  my 
personal  situation,  and  determined  to  surrender  myself  to  the 
stream  of  developments  which  flowed  in  the  direction  towards 
which  my  feelings  had  driven  me  with  a  delight  that  was  full 
of  despair.  Still,  I  did  not  wish  to  leave  my  wife  helpless  in 
Dresden,  and  I  rapidly  devised  a  means  of  drawing  her  into 
the  path  which  I  had  chosen,  without  immediately  informing 
her  of  what  my  resolve  meant.  During  my  hasty  return  to 
Friedrichstadt  I  recognised  that  this  portion  of  the  town  had 
been  almost  entirely  cut  off  from  the  inner  city  by  the  occu- 
pation of  the  Prussian  troops;  I  saw  in  my  mind's  eye  our 
own  suburb  occupied,  and  the  consequences  of  a  state  of  military 
siege  in  their  most  repulsive  light.  It  was  an  easy  job  to  per- 
suade Minna  to  accompany  me  on  a  visit,  by  way  of  the  Thar- 
anderstrasse,  which  was  still  free,  to  Chemnitz,  where  my  mar- 
ried sister  Clara  lived.  It  was  only  a  matter  of  a  moment  for 
her  to  arrange  her  household  orders,  and  she  promised  to  follow 
me  to  the  next  village  in  an  hour  with  the  parrot.  I  went  on 
in  advance  with  my  little  dog  Peps,  in  order  to  hire  a  carriage 
in  which  to  proceed  on  our  journey  to  Chemnitz.  It  was  A 


DEPARTURE  FROM  DRESDEN      489 

smiling  spring  morning  when  I  traversed  for  the  last  time  the 
paths  I  had  so  often  trod  on  my  lonely  walks,  with  the  knowl- 
edge that  I  should  never  wander  along  them  again.  While 
the  larks  were  soaring  to  dizzy  heights  above  my  head,  and 
singing  in  the  furrows  of  the  fields,  the  light  and  heavy  artil- 
lery did  not  cease  to  thunder  down  the  streets  of  Dresden.  The 
noise  of  this  shooting,  which  had  continued  uninterruptedly  for 
several  days,  had  hammered  itself  so  indelibly  upon  my  nerves, 
that  it  continued  to  re-echo  for  a  long  time  in  my  brain;  just 
as  the  motion  of  the  ship  which  took  me  to  London  had  made 
me  stagger  for  some  time  afterwards.  Accompanied  by  this 
terrible  music,  I  threw  my  parting  greeting  to  the  towers  of 
the  city  that  lay  behind  me,  and  said  to  myself  with  a  smile, 
that  if,  seven  years  ago,  my  entry  had  taken  place  under 
thoroughly  obscure  auspices,  at  all  events  my  exit  was  con- 
ducted with  some  show  of  pomp  and  ceremony. 

When  at  last  I  found  myself  with  Minna  in  a  one-horse 
carriage  on  the  way  to  the  Erzgebirge,  we  frequently  met  armed 
reinforcements  on  their  way  to  Dresden.  The  sight  of  them 
always  kindled  an  involuntary  joy  in  us;  even  my  wife  could 
not  refrain  from  addressing  words  of  encouragement  to  the 
men;  at  present  it  seemed  not  a  single  barricade  had  been 
lost.  On  the  other  hand,  a  gloomy  impression  was  made  upon 
us  by  a  company  of  regulars  which  was  making  its  way  towards 
Dresden  in  silence.  We  asked  some  of  them  whither  they  were 
bound ;  and  their  answer,  l  To  do  their  duty,'  had  been  obvi- 
ously impressed  upon  them  by  command.  At  last  we  reached 
my  relations  in  Chemnitz.  I  terrified  all  those  near  and  dear 
to  me  when  I  declared  my  intention  to  return  to  Dresden  on 
the  following  day  at  the  earliest  possible  hour,  in  order  to 
ascertain  how  things  were  going  there.  In  spite  of  all  attempts 
to  dissuade  me,  I  carried  out  my  decision,  pursued  by  a  sus- 
picion that  I  should  meet  the  armed  forces  of  the  Dresden 
people  on  the  country  highroad  in  the  act  of  retreat.  The 
nearer  I  approached  the  capital,  the  stronger  became  the  con- 
firmation of  the  rumours  that,  as  yet,  there  was  no  thought  in 
Dresden  of  surrender  or  withdrawal,  but  that,  on  the  contrary, 
the  contest  was  proving  very  favourable  for  the  national  party. 
All  this  appeared  to  me  like  one  miracle  after  another.  On 


490  MY   LIFE 

this  day,  Tuesday,  9th  of  May,  I  once  more  forced  my  way  in 
a  high  state  of  excitement  over  ground  which  had  become  more 
and  more  inaccessible.  All  the  highways  had  to  be  avoided, 
and  it  was  only  possible  to  make  progress  through  such  houses 
as  had  been  broken  through.  At  last  I  reached  the  Town  Hall 
in  the  Altstadt,  just  as  night  was  falling.  A  truly  terrible 
spectacle  met  my  eyes,  for  I  crossed  those  parts  of  the  town  in 
which  preparations  had  been  made  for  a  house-to-house  fight. 
The  incessant  groaning  of  big  and  small  guns  reduced  to  an 
uncanny  murmur  all  the  other  sounds  that  came  from  armed 
men  ceaselessly  crying  out  to  one  another  from  barricade  to 
barricade,  and  from  one  house  to  another,  which  they  had 
broken  through.  Pitch  brands  burnt  here  and  there,  pale- 
faced  figures  lay  prostrate  around  the  watch-posts,  half  dead 
with  fatigue,  and  any  unarmed  wayfarer  forcing  a  path  for 
himself  was  sharply  challenged.  Nothing,  however,  that  I 
have  lived  through  can  be  compared  with  the  impression  that 
I  received  on  my  entry  into  the  chambers  of  the  Town  Hall. 
Here  was  a  gloomy,  and  yet  fairly  compact  and  serious  mass 
of  people;  a  look  of  unspeakable  fatigue  was  upon  all  faces; 
not  a  single  voice  had  retained  its  natural  tone.  There  was  a 
hoarse  jumble  of  conversation  inspired  by  a  state  of  the  highest 
tension.  The  only  familiar  sight  that  survived  was  to  be  found 
in  the  old  servants  of  the  Town  Hall  in  their  curious  antiquated 
uniform  and  three-cornered  hats.  These  tall  men,  at  other 
times  an  object  of  considerable  fear,  I  found  engaged  partly 
in  buttering  pieces  of  bread,  and  cutting  slices  of  ham  and 
sausage,  and  partly  in  piling  into  baskets  immense  stores  of 
provisions  for  the  messengers  sent  by  the  defenders  of  tho 
barricades  for  supplies.  These  men  had  turned  into  veritable 
nursing  mothers  of  the  revolution. 

As  I  proceeded  further,  I  came  at  last  upon  the  members  of 
the  provisional  government,  among  whom  Todt  and  Tschirner, 
after  their  first  panic-stricken  flight,  were  once  more  to  be 
found  gliding  to  and  fro,  gloomy  as  spectres,  now  that  they 
were  chained  to  the  performance  of  their  heavy  duties. 
Heubner  alone  had  preserved  his  full  energy;  but  he  was  a 
really  piteous  sight :  a  ghostly  fire  burned  in  his  eyes  which  had 
not  had  a  wink  of  sleep  for  seven  nights.  He  was  delighted 


BAKUNIN  AT   THE  TOWN  HALL  491 

to  see  me  again,  as  he  regarded  my  arrival  as  a  good  omen  for 
the  cause  which  he  was  defending;  while  on  the  other  hand, 
in  the  rapid  succession  of  events,  he  had  come  into  contact 
with  elements  about  which  no  conclusion  could  shape  itself 
to  his  complete  satisfaction.  I  found  Bakunin's  outlook  un- 
disturbed, and  his  attitude  firm  and  quiet.  He  did  not  show 
the  smallest  change  in  his  appearance,  in  spite  of  having  had 
no  sleep  during  the  whole  time,  which  I  afterwards  heard  was  a 
fact.  With  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  he  received  me,  seated  on  one 
of  the  mattresses  which  lay  distributed  over  the  floor  of  the 
Town  Hall.  At  his  side  was  a  very  young  Pole  (a  Galician) 
named  Hairnberger,  a  violinist  whom  he  had  once  asked  me 
to  recommend  to  Lipinsky,  in  order  that  he  might  give  him 
lessons,  as  he  did  not  want  this  raw  and  inexperienced  boy, 
who  had  become  passionately  attached  to  him,  to  get  drawn 
into  the  vortex  of  the  present  upheavals.  Now  that  Haim- 
berger  had  shouldered  a  gun,  and  presented  himself  for  service 
at  the  barricades,  however,  Bakunin  had  greeted  him  none  the 
less  joyfully.  He  had  drawn  him  down  to  sit  by  his  side  on 
the  couch,  and  every  time  the  youth  shuddered  with  fear  at 
the  violent  sound  of  the  cannon-shot,  he  slapped  him  vigor- 
ously on  the  back  and  cried  out :  '  You  are  not  in  the  com- 
pany of  your  fiddle  here,  my  friend.  What  a  pity  you  did  n't 
stay  where  you  were !  '  Bakunin  then  gave  me  a  short  and 
precise  account  of  what  had  happened  since  I  had  left  him 
on  the  previous  morning.  The  retreat  which  had  then  been 
decided  upon  soon  proved  unadvisable,  as  it  would  have  dis- 
couraged the  numerous  reinforcements  which  had  already  ar- 
rived on  that  day.  Moreover,  the  desire  for  fighting  had  been 
so  great,  and  the  force  of  the  defenders  so  considerable,  that 
it  had  been  possible  to  oppose  the  enemy's  troops  successfully 
so  far.  But  as  the  latter  had  also  got  large  reinforcements, 
they  again  had  been  able  to  make  an  effective  combined  attack 
on  the  strong  Wildstruf  barricade.  The  Prussian  troops  had 
avoided  fighting  in  the  streets,  choosing  instead  the  method  of 
fighting  from  house  to  house  by  breaking  through  the  walls. 
This  had  made  it  clear  that  all  defence  by  barricades  had 
become  useless,  and  that  the  enemy  would  succeed  slowly 
but  surely  in  drawing  near  the  Town  Hall,  the  seat  of  the 


492  MY   LIFE 

provisional  government.  Bakunin  had  now  proposed  that  all 
the  powder  stores  should  be  brought  together  in  the  lower  rooms 
of  the  Town  Hall,  and  that  on  the  approach  of  the  enemy  it 
should  be  blown  up.  The  town  council,  who  were  still  in  con- 
sultation in  a  back  room,  had  remonstrated  with  the  greatest 
vehemence.  Bakunin,  however,  had  insisted  with  great  firm- 
ness on  the  execution  of  the  measure,  but  in  the  end  had 
been  completely  outwitted  by  the  removal  of  all  the  powder 
stores.  Moreover,  Heubner,  to  whom  Bakunin  could  refuse 
nothing,  had  been  won  over  to  the  other  side.  It  was  now 
decided  that  as  everything  was  ready,  the  retreat  to  the  Erz- 
gebirge,  which  had  originally  been  intended  for  the  previous 
day,  should  be  fixed  for  the  early  morrow.  Young  Zichlinsky 
had  already  received  orders  to  cover  the  road  to  Plauen  so  as 
to  make  it  strategically  safe.  When  I  inquired  after  Eockel, 
Bakunin  replied  swiftly  that  he  had  not  been  seen  since  the 
previous  evening,  and  that  he  had  most  likely  allowed  himself 
to  be  caught:  he  was  in  such  a  nervous  state.  I  now  gave 
an  account  of  what  I  had  observed  on  my  way  to  and  from 
Chemnitz,  describing  the  great  masses  of  reinforcements, 
amongst  which  was  the  communal  guard  of  that  place,  several 
thousands  strong.  In  Freiberg  I  had  met  four  hundred  reserv- 
ists, who  had  come  in  excellent  form  to  back  the  citizen 
army,  but  could  not  proceed  further,  as  they  were  tired  out  by 
their  forced  march.  It  seemed  obvious  that  this  was  a  case 
in  which  the  necessary  energy  to  requisition  wagons  had  been 
lacking,  and  that  if  the  bounds  of  loyalty  were  transgressed 
in  this  matter,  the  advent  of  fresh  forces  would  be  consider- 
ably promoted.  I  was  begged  to  make  my  way  back  at  once, 
and  convey  the  opinion  of  the  provisional  government  to  the 
people  whose  acquaintance  I  had  made.  My  old  friend  Mar- 
schall  von  Bieberstein  immediately  proposed  to  accompany  me. 
I  welcomed  his  offer,  as  he  was  an  officer  of  the  provisional 
government,  and  was  consequently  more  fitted  than  I  was  to 
communicate  orders.  This  man,  who  had  been  almost  extrav- 
agant in  his  enthusiasm  before,  was  now  utterly  exhausted 
by  sleeplessness,  and  unable  to  emit  another  word  from  his 
hoarse  throat.  He  now  made  his  way  with  me  from  the  Town 
Hall  to  his  house  in  the  suburb  of  Plauen  by  the  devious  ways 


RETREAT  OF  PROVISIONAL  GOVERNMENT    493 

that  had  been  indicated  to  us,  in  order  to  requisition  a  carriage 
for  our  purpose  from  a  coachman  he  knew,  and  to  bid  farewell 
to  his  family,  from  whom  he  assumed  he  would  in  all  probabil- 
ity have  to  separate  himself  for  some  time. 

While  we  were  waiting  for  the  coachman  we  had  tea  and 
supper,  talking  the  while,  in  a  fairly  calm  and  composed 
manner,  with  the  ladies  of  the  house.  We  arrived  at  Freiberg 
early  the  following  morning,  after  various  adventures,  and  I 
set  out  forthwith  to  find  the  leaders  of  the  reservist  contingent 
with  whom  I  was  already  acquainted.  Marschall  advised  them 
to  requisition  horses  and  carts  in  the  villages  wherever  they 
could  do  so.  When  they  had  all  set  off  in  marching  order  for 
Dresden,  and  while  I  was  feeling  impelled  by  my  passionate 
interest  in  the  fate  of  that  city  to  return  to  it  once  more, 
Marschall  conceived  the  desire  to  carry  his  commission  further 
afield,  and  for  this  purpose  asked  to  be  allowed  to  leave  me. 
Whereupon  I  again  turned  my  back  on  the  heights  of  the  Erz- 
gebirge,  and  was  travelling  by  special  coach  in  the  direction  of 
Tharand,  when  I  too  was  overcome  with  sleep,  and  was  only 
awakened  by  violent  shouts  and  the  sound  of  some  one  holding 
a  parley  with  the  postillion.  On  opening  my  eyes  I  found,  to 
my  astonishment,  that  the  road  was  filled  with  armed  revolu- 
tionaries marching,  not  towards,  but  away  from  Dresden,  and 
some  of  them  were  trying  to  commandeer  the  coach  to  relieve 
their  weariness  on  the  way  back. 

'  What  is  the  matter  ? '  I  cried.    '  Where  are  you  going  ? ' 

1  Home,'  was  the  reply.  '  It  is  all  over  in  Dresden.  The 
provincial  government  is  close  behind  us  in  that  carriage  down 
there.' 

I  shot  out  of  the  coach  like  a  dart,  leaving  it  at  the  disposal 
of  the  tired  men,  and  hurried  on,  down  the  steeply  sloping  road, 
to  meet  the  ill-fated  party.  And  there  I  actually  found  them  — 
Heubner,  Bakunin,  and  Martin,  the  energetic  post-office  clerk, 
the  two  latter  armed  with  muskets  —  in  a  smart  hired  carriage 
from  Dresden  which  was  coming  slowly  up  the  hill.  On  the  box 
were,  as  I  supposed,  the  secretaries,  while  as  many  as  possible 
of  the  weary  National  Guard  struggled  for  seats  behind.  I 
hastened  to  swing  myself  into  the  coach,  and  so  came  in  for  a 
conversation  which  thereupon  took  place  between  the  driver, 


494  MY   LIFE 

who  was  also  the  owner  of  the  coach,  and  the  provisional  govern- 
ment. The  man  was  imploring  them  to  spare  his  carriage, 
which,  he  said,  was  very  lightly  sprung  and  quite  unequal  to 
carrying  such  a  load;  he  begged  that  the  people  should  be  told 
not  to  seat  themselves  behind  and  in  front.  But  Bakunin 
remained  quite  unconcerned,  and  elected  to  give  me  a  short 
account  of  the  retreat  from  Dresden,  which  had  been  success- 
fully achieved  without  loss.  He  had  had  the  trees  in  the  newly 
planted  Maximilian  Avenue  felled  early  in  the  morning  to  form 
a  barricade  against  a  possible  flank  attack  of  cavalry,  and  had 
been  immensely  entertained  by  the  lamentations  of  the  in- 
habitants, who  during  the  process  did  nothing  but  bewail  their 
Scheene  Beeme.1  All  this  time  our  driver's  lamentations  over 
his  coach  were  growing  more  importunate.  Finally  he  broke 
into  loud  sobs  and  tears,  upon  which  Bakunin,  regarding  him 
with  positive  pleasure,  called  out :  t  The  tears  of  a  Philistine 
are  nectar  for  the  gods.'  He  would  not  vouchsafe  him  a  word, 
but  Heubner  and  I  found  the  scene  tiresome,  whereupon  he 
asked  me  whether  we  two  at  least  should  not  get  out,  as  he  could 
not  ask  it  of  the  others.  As  a  matter  of  fact,  it  was  high  time 
to  leave  the  coach,  as  some  new  contingents  of  revolutionaries 
had  formed  up  in  rank  and  file  all  along  the  highway  to  salute 
the  provisional  government  and  receive  orders.  Heubner 
strode  down  the  line  with  great  dignity,  acquainted  the  leaders 
with  the  state  of  affairs,  and  exhorted  them  to  keep  their  trust 
in  the  righteousness  of  the  cause  for  which  so  many  had  shed 
their  blood.  All  were  now  to  retire  to  Freiberg,  there  to  await 
further  orders. 

A  youngish  man  of  serious  mien,  now  stepped  forward  from 
the  ranks  of  the  rebels  to  place  himself  under  the  special 
protection  of  the  provisional  government.  He  was  a  certain 
Menzdorff,  a  German  Catholic  priest  whom  I  had  had  the 
advantage  of  meeting  in  Dresden.  (It  was  he  who,  in  the 
course  of  a  significant  conversation,  had  first  induced  me  to 
read  Feuerbach. )  He  had  been  dragged  along  as  a  prisoner  and 
abominably  treated  by  the  Chemnitz  municipal  guard  on  this 
particular  march,  having  originally  been  the  instigator  of  a 
demonstration  to  force  that  body  to  take  up  arms  and  march 

1  Saxon  corruption  of  schone  Baume,  beautiful  trees.  —  EDITOR. 


ARRIVAL    IN    FREIBERG  495 

to  Dresden.  He  owed  his  freedom  only  to  the  chance  meeting 
with  other  better  disposed  volunteer  corps.  We  saw  this 
Chemnitz  town  guard  ourselves,  stationed  far  away  on  a  hill. 
They  sent  representatives  to  beseech  Heubner  to  tell  them 
how  things  stood.  When  they  had  received  the  information 
rquired,  and  had  been  told  that  the  fight  would  be  continued 
in  a  determined  manner,  they  invited  the  provisional  govern- 
ment to  quarter  at  Chemnitz.  As  soon  as  they  rejoined  their 
main  body  we  saw  them  wheel  round  and  turn  back. 

With  many  similar  interruptions  the  somewhat  disorganised 
procession  reached  Freiberg.  Here  some  friends  of  Heubner's 
came  to  meet  him  in  the  streets  with  the  urgent  request  not  to 
plunge  their  native  place  into  the  misery  of  desperate  street- 
fighting  by  establishing  the  provisional  government  there. 
Heubner  made  no  reply  to  this,  but  requested  Bakunin  and 
myself  to  accompany  him  into  his  house  for  a  consultation. 
First  we  had  to  witness  the  painful  meeting  between  Heubner 
and  his  wife;  in  a  few  words  he  pointed  out  the  gravity  and 
importance  of  the  task  assigned  to  him,  reminding  her  that 
it  was  for  Germany  and  the  high  destiny  of  his  country  that 
he  was  staking  his  life. 

Breakfast  was  then  prepared,  and  after  the  meal,  during 
which  a  fairly  cheerful  mood  prevailed,  Heubner  made  a  short 
speech  to  Bakunin,  speaking  quietly  but  firmly.  '  My  dear 
Bukanin,'  he  said  (his  previous  acquaintance  with  Bakunin  was 
so  slight  that  he  did  not  even  know  how  to  pronounce  his  name), 
'  before  we  decide  anything  further,  I  must  ask  you  to  state 
clearly  whether  your  political  aim  is  really  the  Red  Republic,  of 
which  they  tell  me  you  are  a  partisan.  Tell  me  frankly,  so  that 
I  may  know  if  I  can  rely  on  your  friendship  in  the  future  ? ' 

Bakunin  explained  briefly  that  he  had  no  scheme  for  any 
political  form  of  government,  and  would  not  risk  his  life  for 
any  of  them.  As  for  his  own  far-reaching  desires  and  hopes, 
they  had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  the  street-fighting  in 
Dresden  and  all  that  this  implied  for  Germany.  He  had  looked 
upon  the  rising  in  Dresden  as  a  foolish,  ludicrous  movement 
until  he  realised  the  effect  of  Heubner's  noble  and  courageous 
example.  From  that  moment  every  political  consideration 
and  aim  had  been  put  in  the  background  by  his  sympathy  with 


496  MY   LIFE 

this  heroic  attitude,  and  he  had  immediately  resolved  to  assist 
this  excellent  man  with  all  the  devotion  and  energy  of  a  friend. 
He  knew,  of  course,  that  he  belonged  to  the  so-called  moderate 
party,  of  whose  political  future  he  was  not  able  to  form  an 
opinion,  as  he  had  not  profited  much  by  his  opportunities  of 
studying  the  position  of  the  various  parties  in  Germany. 

Heubner  declared  himself  satisfied  by  this  reply,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  ask  Bakunin's  opinion  of  the  present  state  of  things  — 
whether  it  would  not  be  conscientious  and  reasonable  to  dismiss 
the  men  and  give  up  a  struggle  which  might  be  considered 
hopeless.  In  reply  Bakunin  insisted,  with  his  usual  calm  assur- 
ance, that  whoever  else  threw  up  the  sponge,  Heubner  must 
certainly  not  do  so.  He  had  been  the  first  member  of  the 
provisional  government,  and  it  was  he  who  had  given  the  call 
to  arms.  The  call  had  been  obeyed,  and  hundreds  of  lives 
had  been  sacrificed;  to  scatter  the  people  again  would  look 
as  if  these  sacrifices  had  been  made  to  idle  folly.  Even  if 
they  were  the  only  two  left,  they  still  ought  not  to  forsake 
their  posts.  If  they  went  under  their  lives  might  be  forfeit, 
but  their  honour  must  remain  unsullied,  so  that  a  similar  ap- 
peal in  the  future  might  not  drive  every  one  to  despair. 

This  was  quite  enough  for  Heubner.  He  at  once  made  out 
a  summons  for  the  election  of  a  representative  assembly  for 
Saxony,  to  be  held  at  Chemnitz.  He  thought  that,  with  the 
assistance  of  the  populace  and  of  the  numerous  insurgent  bands 
who  were  arriving  from  all  quarters,  he  would  be  able  to  hold 
the  town  as  the  headquarters  of  a  provisional  government  until 
the  general  situation  in  Germany  had  become  more  settled. 
In  the  midst  of  these  discussions,  Stephan  Born  walked  into  the 
room  to  report  that  he  had  brought  the  armed  bands  right  into 
Freiberg,  in  good  order  and  without  any  losses.  This  young 
man  was  a  compositor  who  had  contributed  greatly  to  Heubner's 
peace  of  mind  during  the  last  three  days  in  Dresden  by  taking 
over  the  chief  command.  His  simplicity  of  manner  made  a  very 
encouraging  impression  on  us,  particularly  when  we  heard  his 
report.  When,  however,  Heubner  asked  whether  he  would 
undertake  to  defend  Freiberg  against  the  troops  which  might  be 
expected  to  attack  at  any  moment,  he  declared  that  this  was 
an  experienced  officer's  job,  and  that  he  himself  was  no  soldier 


AT    THE    TOWN   HALL  AT    FREIBERG     497 

and  knew  nothing  of  strategy.  Under  these  circumstances  it 
seemed  better,  if  only  to  gain  time,  to  fall  back  on  the  more 
thickly  populated  town  of  Chemnitz.  The  first  thing  to  be 
done,  however,  was  to  see  that  the  revolutionaries,  who  were 
assembled  in  large  numbers  at  Freiberg,  were  properly  cared 
for,  and  Born  went  off  immediately  to  make  preliminary  ar- 
rangements. Heubner  also  took  leave  of  us,  and  went  to  refresh 
his  tired  brain  by  an  hour's  sleep.  I  was  left  alone  on  the  sofa 
with  Bakunin,  who  soon  fell  towards  me,  overcome  by  irresist- 
ible drowsiness,  and  dropped  the  terrific  weight  of  his  head 
on  to  my  shoulder.  As  I  saw  that  he  would  not  wake  if  I 
shook  off  this  burden,  I  pushed  him  aside  with  some  difficulty, 
and  took  leave  both  of  the  sleeper  and  of  Heubner' s  house; 
for  I  wished  to  see  for  myself,  as  I  had  done  for  many  days  past, 
what  course  these  extraordinary  events  were  taking.  I  there- 
fore went  to  the  Town  Hall,  where  I  found  the  townspeople 
entertaining  to  the  best  of  their  ability  a  blustering  horde 
of  excited  revolutionaries  both  within  and  without  the  walls. 
To  my  surprise,  I  found  Heubner  there  in  the  full  swing  of 
work.  I  thought  he  was  asleep  at  home,  but  the  idea  of 
leaving  the  people  even  for  an  hour  without  a  counsellor  had 
driven  away  all  thought  of  rest.  He  had  lost  no  time  in 
superintending  the  organisation  of  a  sort  of  commandant's 
office,  and  was  again  occupied  with  drafting  and  signing 
documents  in  the  midst  of  the  uproar  that  raged  on  all  sides. 
It  was  not  long  before  Bakunin  too  put  in  an  appearance, 
principally  in  search  of  a  good  officer  —  who  was  not,  however, 
forthcoming.  The  commandant  of  a  large  contingent  from 
the  Vogtland,  an  oldish  man,  raised  Bakunin's  hopes  by  the 
impassioned  energy  of  his  speeches,  and  he  would  have  had 
him  appointed  commandant-general  on  the  spot.  But  it  seemed 
as  if  any  real  decision  were  impossible  in  that  frenzy  and 
confusion,  and  as  the  only  hope  of  mastering  it  seemed  to  be 
in  reaching  Chemnitz,  Heubner  gave  the  order  to  march  on 
towards  that  town  as  soon  as  every  one  had  had  food.  Once 
this  was  settled,  I  told  my  friends  I  should  go  on  in  advance  of 
their  column  to  Chemnitz,  where  I  should  find  them  again  next 
day;  for  I  longed  to  be  quit  of  this  chaos.  I  actually  caught 
the  coach,  the  departure  of  which  was  fixed  for  that  time,  and 


498  MY   LIFE 

obtained  a  seat  in  it.  But  the  revolutionaries  were  just  march- 
ing off  on  the  same  road,  and  we  were  told  that  we  must  wait 
until  they  had  passed  to  avoid  being  caught  in  the  whirlpool. 
This  meant  considerable  delay,  and  for  a  long  while  I  watched 
the  peculiar  bearing  of  the  patriots  as  they  marched  out.  I 
noticed  in  particular  a  Vogtland  regiment,  whose  marching  step 
was  fairly  orthodox,  following  the  beat  of  a  drummer  who 
tried  to  vary  the  monotony  of  his  instrument  in  an  artistic 
manner  by  hitting  the  wooden  frame  alternately  with  the 
drumhead.  The  unpleasant  rattling  tone  thus  produced  re- 
minded me  in  ghostly  fashion  of  the  rattling  of  the  skeletons' 
bones  in  the  dance  round  the  gallows  by  night  which  Berlioz 
had  brought  home  to  my  imagination  with  such  terrible 
realism  in  his  performance  of  the  last  movement  of  his  Sinfonie 
Fantastique  in  Paris. 

Suddenly  the  desire  seized  me  to  look  up  the  friends  I  had 
left  behind,  and  travel  to  Chemnitz  in  their  company  if  possible. 
I  found  they  had  quitted  the  Town  Hall,  and  on  reaching 
Heubner's  house  I  was  told  that  he  was  asleep.  I  therefore 
went  back  to  the  coach,  which,  however,  was  still  putting  off 
its  departure,  as  the  road  was  blocked  with  troops.  I  walked 
nervously  up  and  down  for  some  time,  then,  losing  faith  in 
the  journey  by  coach,  I  went  back  again  to  Heubner's  house  to 
offer  myself  definitely  as  a  travelling  companion.  But  Heubner 
and  Bakunin  had  already  left  home,  and  I  could  find  no  traces 
of  them.  In  desperation  I  returned  once  more  to  the  coach, 
and  found  it  by  this  time  really  ready  to  start.  After  various 
delays  and  adventures  it  brought  me  late  at  night  to  Chem- 
nitz, where  I  got  out  and  betook  myself  to  the  nearest  inn. 
At  five  o'clock  the  next  morning  I  got  up  (after  a  few  hours' 
sleep)  and  set  out  to  find  my  brother-in-law  Wolfram's  house, 
which  was  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour's  walk  from  the  town, 
On  the  way  I  asked  a  sentinel  of  the  town  guard  whether 
he  knew  anything  about  the  arrival  of  the  provisional 
government. 

'  Provisional  government  ? '  was  the  reply.  '  Why,  it 's  all 
up  with  that.'  I  did  not  understand  him,  nor  was  I  able  to 
learn  anything  about  the  state  of  things  when  I  first  reached 
the  house  of  my  relatives,  for  my  brother-in-law  had  been  sent 


TREACHERY   AT    CHEMNITZ  499 

into  the  town  as  special  constable.  It  was  only  on  his  return 
home,  late  in  the  afternoon,  that  I  heard  what  had  taken  place 
in  one  hotel  at  Chemnitz  while  I  had  been  resting  in  another 
inn.  Heubner,  IJakunin,  and  the  man  called  Martin,  whom  I 
have  mentioned  already,  had,  it  seemed,  arrived  before  me  in  a 
hackney-coach  at  the  gates  of  Chemnitz.  On  being  asked  for 
their  names  Heubner  had  announced  himself  in  a  tone  of 
authority,  and  had  bidden  the  town  councillors  come  to  him 
at  a  certain  hotel.  They  had  no  sooner  reached  the  hotel 
than  they  all  three  collapsed  from  excessive  fatigue.  Suddenly 
the  police  broke  into  the  room  and  arrested  them  in  the  name 
of  the  local  government,  upon  which  they  only  begged  to  have 
a  few  hours'  quiet  sleep,  pointing  out  that  flight  was  out  of  the 
question  in  their  present  condition.  I  heard  further  that  they 
had  been  removed  to  Altenburg  under  a  strong  military  escort. 
My  brother-in-law  was  obliged  to  confess  that  the  Chem- 
nitz municipal  guard,  which  had  been  forced  to  start  for 
Dresden  much  against  its  will,  and  had  resolved  at  the  very 
outset  to  place  itself  at  the  disposal  of  the  royal  forces  on 
arriving  there,  had  deceived  Heubner  by  inviting  him  to 
Chemnitz,  and  had  lured  him  into  the  trap.  They  had  reached 
Chemnitz  long  before  Heubner,  and  had  taken  over  the  guard 
at  the  gates  with  the  object  of  seeing  him  arrive  and  of  prepar- 
ing for  his  arrest  at  once.  My  brother-in-law  had  been  very 
anxious  about  me  too,  as  he  had  been  told  in  furious  tones  by 
the  leaders  of  the  town  guard  that  I  had  been  seen  in  close 
association  with  the  revolutionaries.  He  thought  it  a  wonderful 
intervention  of  Providence  that  I  had  not  arrived  at  Chemnitz 
with  them  and  gone  to  the  same  inn,  in  which  case  their  fate 
would  certainly  have  been  mine.  The  recollection  of  my  escape 
from  almost  certain  death  in  duels  with  the  most  experienced 
swordsmen  in  my  student  days  flashed  across  me  like  a  flash  of 
lightning.  This  last  terrible  experience  made  such  an  impres- 
sion on  me  that  I  was  incapable  of  breathing  a  word  in  connec- 
tion with  what  had  happened.  My  brother-in-law,  in  response 
to  urgent  appeals  —  from  my  wife  in  particular,  who  was  much 
concerned  for  my  personal  safety  —  undertook  to  convey  me  to 
Altenburg  in  his  carriage  by  night.  From  there  I  continued  my 
journey  by  coach  to  Weimar,  where  I  had  originally  planned 


500  MY   LIFE 

to  spend  my  holidays,  little  thinking  that  I  should  arrive  by 
such  devious  ways. 

The  dreamy  unreality  of  my  state  of  mind  at  this  time  is 
best  explained  by  the  apparent  seriousness  with  which,  on 
meeting  Liszt  again,  I  at  once  began  to  discuss  what  seemed  to 
be  the  sole  topic  of  any  real  interest  to  him  in  connection  with 
me  —  the  forthcoming  revival  of  Tannbauser  at  Weimar.  I 
found  it  very  difficult  to  confess  to  this  friend  that  I  had  not 
left  Dresden  in  the  regulation  way  for  a  conductor  of  the 
royal  opera.  To  tell  the  truth,  I  had  a  very  hazy  conception 
of  the  relation  in  which  I  stood  to  the  law  of  my  country  (in 
the  narrow  sense).  Had  I  done  anything  criminal  in  the  eye 
of  the  law  or  not?  I  found  it  impossible  to  come  to  any 
conclusion  about  it.  Meanwhile,  alarming  news  of  the  terrible 
conditions  in  Dresden  continued  to  pour  into  Weimar.  Genast, 
the  stage  manager,  in  particular,  aroused  great  excitement  by 
spreading  the  report  that  Rockel,  who  was  well  known  at 
Weimar,  had  been'  guilty  of  arson.  Liszt  must  soon  have 
gathered  from  my  conversation,  in  which  I  did  not  take  the 
trouble  to  dissimulate,  that  I  too  was  suspiciously  connected 
with  these  terrible  events,  though  my  attitude  with  regard  to 
them  misled  him  for  some  time.  For  I  was  not  by  any  means 
prepared  to  proclaim  myself  a  combatant  in  the  recent  fights, 
and  that  for  reasons  quite  other  than  would  have  seemed  valid 
in  the  eyes  of  the  law.  My  friend  was  therefore  encouraged 
in  his  delusion  by  the  unpremeditated  effect  of  my  attitude. 
When  we  met  at  the  house  of  Princess  Caroline  of  Wittgen- 
stein, to  whom  I  had  been  introduced  the  year  before  when  she 
paid  her  flying  visit  to  Dresden,  we  were  able  to  hold  stimulat- 
ing conversations  on  all  sorts  of  artistic  topics.  One  afternoon, 
for  instance,  a  lively  discussion  sprang  up  from  a  description 
I  had  given  of  a  tragedy  to  be  entitled  Jesus  of  Nazareth.  Liszt 
maintained  a  discreet  silence  after  I  had  finished,  whereas  the 
Princess  protested  vigorously  against  my  proposal  to  bring  such 
a  subject  on  to  the  stage.  From  the  lukewarm  attempt  I  made 
to  support  the  paradoxical  theories  I  had  put  forward,  I  realised 
the  state  of  my  mind  at  that  time.  Although  it  was  not  very 
evident  to  onlookers,  I  had  been,  and  still  was,  shaken  to  the 
very  depths  of  my  being  by  my  recent  experiences. 


SOJOURN"   WITH   LISZT  501 

In  due  course  an  orchestral  rehearsal  of  Tannliauser  took 
place,  which  in  various  ways  stimulated  the  artist  in  me  afresh. 
Liszt's  conducting,  though  mainly  concerned  with  the  musical 
rather  than  the  dramatic  side,  filled  me  for  the  first  time  with 
the  flattering  warmth  of  emotion  roused  by  the  consciousness  of 
being  understood  by  another  mind  in  full  sympathy  with  my 
own.  At  the  same  time  I  was  able,  in  spite  of  my  dreamy 
condition,  to  observe  critically  the  standard  of  capacity  ex- 
hibited by  the  singers  and  their  chorus-master.  After  the 
rehearsal  I,  together  with  the  musical  director,  Stohr,  and  Gotze 
the  singer,  accepted  Liszt's  invitation  to  a  simple  dinner,  at  a 
different  inn  from  the  one  where  he  lived.  I  thus  had  occasion 
to  take  alarm  at  a  trait  in  his  character  which  was  entirely 
new  to  me.  After  being  stirred  up  to  a  certain  pitch  of  excite- 
ment his  mood  became  positively  alarming,  and  he  almost 
gnashed  his  teeth  in  a  passion  of  fury  directed  against  a  certain 
section  of  society  which  had  also  aroused  my  deepest  indigna- 
tion. I  was  strongly  affected  by  this  strange  experience  with 
this  wonderful  man,  but  I  was  unable  to  see  the  association  of 
ideas  which  had  led  to  his  terrible  outburst.  I  was  therefore  left 
in  a  state  of  amazement,  while  Liszt  had  to  recover  during  the 
night  from  a  violent  attack  of  nerves  which  his  excitement  had 
produced.  Another  surprise  was  in  store  for  me  the  next 
morning,  when  I  found  my  friend  fully  equipped  for  a  journey 
to  Karlsruhe — the  circumstances  which  made  it  necessary  being 
absolutely  incomprehensible  to  me.  Liszt  invited  Director 
Stohr  and  myself  to  accompany  him  as  far  as  Eisenach.  On 
our  way  there  we  were  stopped  by  Beaulieu,  the  Lord  Chamber- 
lain, who  wished  to  know  whether  I  was  prepared  to  be  received 
by  the  Grand  Duchess  of  Weimar,  a  sister  of  the  Emperor 
Nicolas,  at  Eisenach  castle.  As  my  excuse  on  the  score  of 
unsuitable  travelling  costume  was  not  admitted,  Liszt  accepted 
in  my  name,  and  I  really  met  with  a  surprisingly  kind  reception 
that  evening  from  the  Grand  Duchess,  who  chatted  witli  me 
in  the  friendliest  way,  and  introduced  me  to  her  chamberlain 
with  all  due  ceremony.  Liszt  maintained  afterwards  that  his 
noble  patroness  had  been  informed  that  I  should  be  wanted 
by  the  authorities  in  Dresden  within  the  next  few  days,  and 
had  therefore  hastened  to  make  my  personal  acquaintance 


502  MY   LIFE 

at  once,  knowing  that  it  would  compromise  her  too  heavily- 
later  on. 

Liszt  continued  his  journey  from  Eisenach,  leaving  me  to 
be  entertained  and  looked  after  by  Stohr  and  the  musical 
director  Kiihmstedt,  a  diligent  and  skilful  master  of  counter- 
point with  whom  I  paid  my  first  visit  to  the  Wartburg,  which 
had  not  then  been  restored.  I  was  filled  with  strange  musings 
as  to  my  fate  when  I  visited  this  castle.  Here  I  was  actually 
on  the  point  of  entering,  for  the  first  time,  the  building  which 
was  so  full  of  meaning  for  me;  here,  too,  I  had  to  tell  myself 
that  the  days  of  my  further  sojourn  in  Germany  were  numbered. 
And  in  fact  the  news  from  Dresden,  when  we  returned  to  Wei- 
mar the  next  day,  was  serious  indeed.  Liszt,  on  his  return  on 
the  third  day,  found  a  letter  from  my  wife,  who  had  not  dared  to 
write  direct  to  me.  She  reported  that  the  police  had  searched 
my  house  in  Dresden,  to  which  she  had  returned,  and  that  she 
had,  moreover,  been  warned  on  no  account  to  allow  me  to  return 
to  that  city,  as  a  warrant  had  been  taken  out  against  me,  and  I 
was  shortly  to  be  served  with  a  writ  and  arrested.  Liszt,  who 
was  now  solely  concerned  for  my  personal  safety,  called  in  a 
friend  who  had  some  experience  of  law,  to  consider  what  should 
be  done  to  rescue  me  from  the  danger  that  threatened  me. 
Von  Watzdorf,  the  minister  whom  I  had  already  visited,  had 
been  of  opinion  that  I  should,  if  required,  submit  quietly  to 
being  taken  to  Dresden,  and  that  the  journey  would  be  made 
in  a  respectable  private  carriage.  On  the  other  hand,  reports 
which  had  reached  us  of  the  brutal  way  in  which  the  Prussian 
troops  in  Dresden  had  gone  to  work  in  applying  the  state  of 
siege  were  of  so  alarming  a  nature  that  Liszt  and  his  friends  in 
council  urged  my  speedy  departure  from  Weimar,  where  it 
would  be  impossible  to  protect  me.  But  I  insisted  on  taking 
leave  of  my  wife,  whose  anxiety  was  great,  before  leaving 
Germany,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay  a  little  longer  at 
least  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Weimar.  This  was  taken  into 
consideration,  and  Professor  Siebert  suggested  my  taking 
temporary  shelter  with  a  friendly  steward  at  the  village  of 
Magdala,  which  was  three  hours  distant,  I  drove  there  the 
following  morning  to  introduce  myself  to  this  kind  steward  and 
protector  as  Professor  Werder  from  Berlin,  who,  with  a  letter 


AT   MAGDALA    (1849)  503 

of  recommendation  from  Professor  Siebert,  had  come  to  turn 
his  financial  studies  to  practical  account  in  helping  to  ad- 
minister these  estates.  Here  in  rural  seclusion  I  spent  three 
days,  entertainment  of  a  peculiar  nature  being  provided  by 
the  meeting  of  a  popular  assembly,  which  consisted  of  the 
remainder  of  the  contingent  of  revolutionaries  which  had 
marched  off  towards  Dresden  and  had  now  returned  in  disorder. 
I  listened  with  curious  feelings,  amounting  almost  to  contempt, 
to  the  speeches  on  this  occasion,  which  were  of  every  kind  and 
description.  On  the  second  day  of  my  stay  my  host's  wife 
came  back  from  Weimar  (where  it  was  market-day)  full  of  a 
curious  tale:  the  composer  of  an  opera  which  was  being 
performed  there  on  that  very  day  had  been  obliged  to  leave 
Weimar  suddenly  because  the  warrant  for  his  arrest  had  arrived 
from  Dresden.  My  host,  who  had  been  let  into  my  secret  by 
Professor  Seibert,  asked  playfully  what  his  name  was.  As  his 
wife  did  not  seem  to  know,  he  came  to  her  assistance  with  the 
suggestion  that  perhaps  it  was  Rockel  whose  name  was  familiar 
at  Weimar. 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  '  Rb'ckel,  that  was  his  name,  quite 
right.' 

My  host  laughed  loudly,  and  said  that  he  would  not  be  so 
stupid  as  to  let  them  catch  him,  in  spite  of  his  opera. 

At  last,  on  22nd  May,  my  birthday,  Minna  actually  arrived 
at  Magdala.  She  had  hastened  to  Weimar  on  receiving  my 
letter,  and  had  proceeded  from  there  according  to  instructions, 
bent  on  persuading  me  at  all  costs  to  flee  the  country  immedi- 
ately and  for  good.  No  attempt  to  raise  her  to  the  level  of  my 
own  mood  was  successful;  she  persisted  in  regarding  me  as 
an  ill-advised,  inconsiderate  person  who  had  plunged  both 
himself  and  her  into  the  most  terrible  situation.  It  had  been 
arranged  that  I  should  meet  her  the  next  evening  in  the  house 
of  Professor  Wolff  at  Jena  to  take  a  last  farewell.  She  was  to 
go  by  way  of  Weimar,  while  I  took  the  footpath  from  Magdala. 
I  started  accordingly  on  my  walk  of  about  six  hours,  and  came 
over  the  plateau  into  the  little  university  town  (which  now 
received  me  hospitably  for  the  first  time)  at  sunset.  I  found 
my  wife  again  at  the  house  of  Professor  Wolff,  who,  thanks  to 
Liszt,  was  already  my  friend,  and  with  the  addition  of  a  certain 


504  MY   LIFE 

Professor  Widmann  another  conference  was  held  on  the  subject 
of  my  further  escape.  A  writ  was  actually  out  against  me  for 
being  strongly  suspected  of  participation  in  the  Dresden  rising, 
and  I  could  not  under  any  circumstances  depend  on  a  safe 
refuge  in  any  of  the  German  federal  states.  Liszt  insisted  on 
my  going  to  Paris,  where  I  could  find  a  new  field  for  my  work, 
while  Widmann  advised  me  not  to  go  by  the  direct  route  through 
Frankfort  and  Baden,  as  the  rising  was  still  in  full  swing  there, 
and  the  police  would  certainly  exercise  praiseworthy  vigilance 
over  incoming  travellers,  with  suspicious-looking  passports. 
The  way  through  Bavaria  would  be  the  safest,  as  all  was  quiet 
there  again;  I  could  then  make  for  Switzerland,  and  the 
journey  to  Paris  from  there  could  be  engineered  without  any 
danger.  As  I  needed  a  passport  for  the  journey,  Professor 
Widmann  offered  me  his  own,  which  had  been  issued  at  Tubin- 
gen and  had  not  been  brought  up  to  date.  My  wife  was  quite  in 
despair,  and  the  parting  from  her  caused  me  real  pain.  I  set 
off  in  the  mail-coach  and  travelled,  without  further  hindrance, 
through  many  towns  (amongst  them  Rudolstadt,  a  place  full 
of  memories  for  me)  to  the  Bavarian  frontier.  From  there  I 
continued  my  journey  by  mail-coach  straight  to  Lindau.  At 
the  gates  I,  together  with  the  other  passengers,  was  asked  for 
my  passport.  I  passed  the  night  in  a  state  of  strange,  feverish 
excitement,  which  lasted  until  the  departure  of  the  steamer  on 
Lake  Constance  early  in  the  morning.  My  mind  was  full  of 
the  Swabian  dialect,  as  spoken  by  Professor  Widmann,  with 
whose  passport  I  was  travelling.  I  pictured  to  myself  my 
dealings  with  the  Bavarian  police  should  I  have  to  converse 
with  them  in  accordance  with  the  above-mentioned  irregularities 
in  that  document.  A  prey  to  feverish  unrest,  I  spent  the  whole 
night  trying  to  perfect  myself  in  the  Swabian  dialect,  but,  as  I 
was  amused  to  find,  without  the  smallest  success.  I  had  braced 
myself  to  meet  the  crucial  moment  early  the  next  morning, 
when  the  policeman  came  into  my  room  and,  not  knowing  to 
whom  the  passports  belonged,  gave  me  three  at  random  to  choose 
from.  With  joy  in  my  heart  I  seized  my  own,  and  dismissed 
the  dreaded  messenger  in  the  most  friendly  way.  Once  on 
board  the  steamer  I  realised  with  true  satisfaction  that  I  had 
now  stepped  on  to  Swiss  territory.  It  was  a  lovely  spring 


ARRIVAL   IN   ZURICH  505 

morning;  across  the  broad  lake  I  could  gaze  at  the  Alpine 
landscape  as  it  spread  itself  before  my  eyes.  When  I  steppr-l 
on  to  Republican  soil  at  Rorschach,  I  employed  the  first 
moments  in  writing  a  few  lines  home  to  tell  of  my  safe  arrival 
in  Switzerland  and  my  deliverance  from  all  danger.  The 
coach  drive  through  the  pleasant  country  of  St.  Gall  to  Zurich 
cheered  me  up  wonderfully,  and  when  I  drove  down  from 
Oberstrass  into  Zurich  that  evening,  the  last  day  in  May,  at  six 
o'clock,  and  saw  for  the  first  time  the  Glarner  Alps  that  encircle 
the  lake  gleaming  in  the  sunset,  I  at  once  resolved,  though 
without  being  fully  conscious  of  it,  to  avoid  everything  that 
could  prevent  my  settling  here. 

I  had  been  the  more  willing  to  accept  my  friends'  suggestion 
to  take  the  Swiss  route  to  Paris,  as  I  knew  I  should  find  an  old 
acquaintance,  Alexander  Miiller,  at  Zurich.  I  hoped  with  his 
help  to  obtain  a  passport  to  France,  as  I  was  anxious  not  to 
arrive  there  as  a  political  refugee.  I  had  been  on  very  friendly 
terms  with  Miiller  once  upon  a  time  at  Wiirzburg.  He  had 
been  settled  at  Zurich  for  a  long  time  as  a  teacher  of  music; 
this  I  learned  from  a  pupil  of  his,  Wilhelm  Baumgartner,  who 
had  called  on  me  in  Dresden  some  years  back  to  bring  me  a 
greeting  from  this  old  friend.  On  that  occasion  I  entrusted  the 
pupil  with  a  copy  of  the  score  of  Tanrihauser  for  his  master, 
by  way  of  remembrance,  and  this  kind  attention  had  not  fallen 
on  barren  soil:  Miiller  and  Baumgartner,  whom  I  visited 
forthwith,  introduced  me  at  once  to  Jacob  Sulzer  and  Franz 
Hagenbuch,  two  cantonal  secretaries  who  were  the  most  likely, 
among  all  their  good  friends,  to  compass  the  immediate  fulfil- 
ment of  my  desire.  These  two  people,  who  had  been  joined  by 
a  few  intimates,  received  me  with  such  respectful  curiosity  and 
sympathy  that  I  felt  at  home  with  them  at  once.  The  great 
assurance  and  moderation  with  which  they  commented  on  the 
persecutions  which  had  overtaken  me,  as  seen  from  their  usual 
simple  republican  standpoint,  opened  to  me  a  conception  of 
civil  life  which  seemed  to  lift  me  to  an  entirely  new  sphere. 
I  felt  so  safe  and  protected  here,  whereas  in  my  own  country 
I  had,  without  quite  realising  it,  come  to  be  considered  a 
criminal  owing  to  the  peculiar  connection  between  my  disgust 
at  the  public  attitude  towards  art  and  the  general  political 


506  MY   LIFE 

disturbances.  To  prepossess  the  two  secretaries  entirely  in  my 
favour  (one  of  them,  Sulzer,  had  enjoyed  an  excellent  classical 
education),  my  friends  arranged  a  meeting  one  evening  at 
which  I  was  to  read  my  poem  on  the  Death  of  Siegfried.  I  am 
prepared  to  swear  that  I  never  had  more  attentive  listeners, 
among  men,  than  on  that  evening.  The  immediate  effect  of 
my  success  was  the  drawing  up  of  a  fully  valid  federal  passport 
for  the  poor  German  under  warrant  of  arrest,  armed  with  which 
I  started  gaily  on  my  journey  to  Paris  after  quite  a  short  stay 
at  Zurich.  From  Strassburg,  where  I  was  enthralled  by  the 
fascination  of  the  world-famous  minster,  I  travelled  towards 
Paris  by  what  was  then  the  best  means  of  locomotion,  the 
so-called  malle-poste.  I  remember  a  remarkable  phenomenon 
in  connection  with  this  conveyance.  Till  then  the  noise  of 
the  cannonade  and  musketry  in  the  fighting  at  Dresden  had 
been  persistently  re-echoing  in  my  ears,  especially  in  a  half- 
waking  condition ;  now  the  humming  of  the  wheels,  as  we  rolled 
rapidly  along  the  highroad,  cast  such  a  spell  upon  me  that  for 
the  whole  of  the  journey  I  seemed  to  hear  the  melody  of  Freude, 
schoner  Gotterfuriken  *  from  the  Ninth  Symphony  being  played, 
as  it  were,  on  deep  bass  instruments. 

From  the  time  of  my  entering  Switzerland  till  my  arrival  in 
Paris  my  spirits,  which  had  sunk  into  a  dreamlike  apathy,  rose 
gradually  to  a  level  of  freedom  and  comfort  that  I  had  never 
enjoyed  before.  I  felt  like  a  bird  in  the  air  whose  destiny  is 
not  to  founder  in  a  morass ;  but  soon  after  my  arrival  in  Paris, 
in  the  first  week  of  June,  a  very  palpable  reaction  set  in.  I  had 
had  an  introduction  from  Liszt  to  his  former  secretary  Belloni, 
who  felt  it  his  duty,  in  loyalty  to  the  instructions  received,  to 
put  me  into  communication  with  a  literary  man,  a  certain  Gus- 
tave  Vaisse,  with  the  object  of  being  commissioned  to  write  an 
opera  libretto  for  production  in  Paris.  I  did  not,  however,  make 
the  personal  acquaintance  of  Vaisse.  The  idea  did  not  please 
me,  and  I  found  sufficient  excuse  for  warding  off  the  negotiations 
by  saying  I  was  afraid  of  the  epidemic  of  cholera  which  was  said 
to  be  raging  in  the  city.  I  was  staying  in  the  Rue  Notre  Dame 
de  Lorette  for  the  sake  of  being  near  Belloni.  Through  this 
street  funeral  processions,  announced  by  the  muffled  drum 
1  See  note  on  page  486. 


MEETING   WITH   MEYERBEER  507 

beats  of  the  National  Guard,  passed  practically  every  hour. 
Though  the  heat  was  stifling,  I  was  strictly  forbidden  to  touch 
water,  and  was  advised  to  exercise  the  greatest  precaution  with 
regard  to  diet  in  every  respect.  Besides  this  weight  of  uneasi- 
ness on  my  spirits,  the  whole  outward  aspect  of  Paris,  as  it  then 
appeared,  had  the  most  depressing  effect  on  me.  The  motto, 
liberte,  egalite,  fraternite,  was  still  to  be  seen  on  all  the  public 
buildings  and  other  establishments,  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  was  alarmed  at  seeing  the  first  garqons  caissiers  making  their 
way  from  the  bank  with  their  long  money-sacks  over  their 
shoulders  and  their  large  portfolios  in  their  hands.  I  had  never 
met  them  so  frequently  as  now,  just  when  the  old  capitalist 
regime,  after  its  triumphant  struggle  against  the  once  dreaded 
socialist  propaganda,  was  exerting  itself  vigorously  to  regain 
the  public  confidence  by  its  almost  insulting  pomp.  I  had 
gone,  as  it  were,  mechanically  into  Schlesinger's  music-shop, 
where  a  successor  was  now  installed  —  a  much  more  pronounced 
type  of  Jew  named  Brandus,  of  a  very  dirty  appearance.  The 
only  person  there  to  give  me  a  friendly  welcome  was  the  old 
clerk,  Monsieur  Henri.  After  I  had  talked  to  him  in  loud  tones 
for  some  time,  as  the  shop  was  apparently  empty,  he  at  length 
asked  me  with  some  embarrassment  whether  I  had  not  seen 
my  master  (votre  maitre}  Meyerbeer. 

'  Is  Monsieur  Meyerbeer  here  ? '  I  asked. 

'  Certainly,'  was  the  even  more  embarrassed  reply ;  '  quite 
near,  over  there  behind  the  desk.' 

And,  sure  enough,  as  I  walked  across  to  the  desk  Meyer- 
beer came  out,  covered  with  confusion.  He  smiled  and  made 
some  excuse  about  pressing  proof-sheets.  He  had  been  hiding 
there  quietly  for  over  ten  minutes  since  first  hearing  my  voice. 
I  had  had  enough  after  my  strange  encounter  with  this  appari- 
tion. It  recalled  so  many  things  affecting  myself  which 
reflected  suspicion  on  the  man,  in  particular  the  significance 
of  his  behaviour  towards  me  in  Berlin  on  the  last  occasion. 
However,  as  I  had  now  nothing  more  to  do  with  him,  I  greeted 
him  with  a  certain  easy  gaiety  induced  by  the  regret  I  felt  at 
seeing  his  manifest  confusion  on  becoming  cognisant  of  my 
arrival  in  Paris.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  I  should  again 
seek  my  fortune  there,  and  seemed  much  surprised  when  I 


508  MY   LIFE 

assured  him,  on  the  contrary,  that  the  idea  of  having  any  work 
there  was  odious  to  me. 

'  But  Liszt  published  such  a  brilliant  article  about  you  in  the 
Journal  des  Debats'  he  said. 

'  Ah,'  I  replied,  l  it  really  had  not  occurred  to  me  that  the 
enthusiastic  devotion  of  a  friend  should  be  regarded  as  a  mutual 
speculation.' 

'  But  the  article  made  a  sensation.  It  is  incredible  that  you 
should  not  seek  to  make  any  profit  out  of  it.' 

This  offensive  meddlesomeness  roused  me  to  protest  to 
Meyerbeer  with  some  violence  that  I  was  concerned  with  any- 
thing rather  than  with  the  production  of  artistic  work,  particu- 
larly just  at  that  time  when  the  course  of  events  seemed  to 
indicate  that  the  whole  world  was  undergoing  a  reaction. 

'  But  what  do  you  expect  to  get  out  of  the  revolution  ? '  he 
replied.  *  Are  you  going  to  write  scores  for  the  barricades  ? ' 

Whereupon  I  assured  him  that  I  was  not  thinking  of  writing 
any  scores  at  all.  We  parted,  obviously  without  having  arrived 
at  a  mutual  understanding. 

In  the  street  I  was  also  stopped  by  Moritz  Schlesinger,  who, 
being  equally  under  the  influence  of  Liszt's  brilliant  article, 
evidently  considered  me  a  perfect  prodigy.  He  too  thought  I 
must  be  counting  on  making  a  hit  in  Paris,  and  was  sure  that 
I  had  a  very  good  chance  of  doing  so. 

'  Will  you  undertake  my  business  ? '  I  asked  him.  '  I  have 
no  money.  Do  you  really  think  the  performance  of  an  opera 
by  an  unknown  composer  can  be  anything  but  a  matter  of 
money  ? ' 

'  You  are  quite  right/  said  Moritz,  and  left  me  on  the  spot. 

I  turned  from  these  disagreeable  encounters  in  the  plague- 
stricken  capital  of  the  world  to  inquire  the  fate  of  my  Dresden 
companions,  for  some  of  those  with  whom  I  was  intimate  had 
also  reached  Paris,  when  I  called  on  Desplechins,  who  had 
painted  the  scenery  for  Tannli'duser.  I  found  Semper  there,  who 
had,  like  myself,  been  deposited  in  this  city.  We  met  again  with 
no  little  pleasure,  although  we  could  not  help  smiling  at  our 
grotesque  situation.  Semper  had  retired  from  the  battle  when 
the  famous  barricade,  which  he  in  his  capacity  of  architect  kept 
under  close  observation,  had  been  surrounded.  (He  thought  it 


IN   THE    COUNTRY    WITH   BELLOXI        500 

impossible  for  it  to  be  captured.)  All  the  same,  he  considered 
that  he  had  exposed  himself  quite  sufficiently  to  make  it 
unsafe  for  him  to  stay  after  the  Prussians  had  announced  a 
state  of  siege  and  were  occupying  Dresden.  He  considered 
himself  lucky  as  a  native  of  Holstein  to  be  dependent,  not  on 
the  German,  but  on  the  Danish  government  for  a  passport, 
as  this  had  helped  him  to  reach  Paris  without  difficulty.  When 
I  expressed  my  real  and  heartfelt  regret  at  the  turn  of  affairs 
which  had  torn  him  from  a  professional  undertaking  on  which 
he  had  just  started  —  the  completion  of  the  Dresden  Museum 
—  he  refused  to  take  it  too  seriously,  saying  it  had  given  him 
a  great  deal  of  worry.  In  spite  of  our  trying  situation,  it 
was  with  Semper  that  I  spent  the  only  bright  hours  of  my  stay 
in  Paris.  We  were  soon  joined  by  another  refugee,  young 
Heine,  who  had  once  wished  to  paint  my  Lohengrin  scenery. 
He  had  no  qualms  about  his  future,  for  his  master  Desplechins 
was  willing  to  give  him  employment.  I  alone  felt  I  had  been 
pitched  quite  aimlessly  into  Paris.  I  had  a  passionate  desire 
to -leave  this  cholera-laden  atmosphere,  and  Belloni  offered  me 
an  opportunity  which  I  promptly  and  joyfully  seized.  He 
invited  me  to  follow  himself  and  his  family  to  a  country  place 
near  La  Ferte-sous-Jouarre,  where  I  could  be  refreshed  by  pure 
air  and  absolute  quiet,  and  wait  for  a  change  for  the  better  in 
my  position.  I  made  the  short  journey  to  Rueil  after  another 
week  in  Paris,  and  took  for  the  time  being  a  poor  lodging  (one 
room,  built  with  recesses)  in  the  house  of  Monsieur  Raphael, 
a  wine  merchant,  close  by  the  village  mairie  where  the  Belloni 
family  were  staying.  Here  I  waited  further  developments. 
During  the  period  when  all  news  from  Germany  ceased  I  tried 
to  occupy  myself  as  far  as  possible  with  reading.  After  going 
through  Proudhon's  writings,  and  in  particular  his  De  la 
propriete,  in  such  a  manner  as  to  glean  comfort  for  my  situation 
in  curiously  divers  ways,  I  entertained  myself  for  a  consider- 
able time  with  Lamartine's  Histoire  des  Girondins,  a  most 
alluring  and  attractive  work.  One  day  Belloni  brought  me  in-\v< 
of  the  unfortunate  rising  in  Paris,  which  had  been  attempt. -.1 
on  the  13th  June  by  the  Republicans  under  Ledru-Kollin  upiinst 
the  provisional  government,  which  was  then  in  the  full  tide  of 
reaction.  Great  as  was  the  indignation  with  which  the  i. 


510  MY   LIFE 

was  received  by  my  host  and  the  mayor  of  the  place  (a  relative 
of  his,  at  whose  table  we  ate  our  modest  daily  meal),  it  made,  on 
the  whole,  little  impression  on  me,  as  my  attention  was  still 
fixed  in  great  agitation  on  the  events  which  were  taking  place 
on  the  Khine,  and  particularly  on  the  grand-duchy  of  Baden, 
which  had  been  made  forfeit  to  a  provisional  government. 
When,  however,  the  news  reached  me  from  this  quarter  also 
that  the  Prussians  had  succeeded  in  subduing  a  movement  which 
had  not  at  first  seemed  hopeless,  I  felt  extraordinarily 
downcast. 

I  was  compelled  to  consider  my  position  carefully,  and  the 
necessity  of  conquering  my  difficulties  helped  to  allay  the 
excitement  to  which  I  was  a  prey.  The  letters  from  my 
Weimar  friends,  as  well  as  those  from  my  wife,  now  brought  me 
completely  to  my  senses.  The  former  expressed  themselves 
very  curtly  about  my  behaviour  with  regard  to  recent  events. 
The  opinion  was,  that  for  the  moment  there  would  be  nothing 
for  me  to  do,  and  especially  not  in  Dresden,  or  at  the  grand- 
ducal  court,  l  as  one  could  not  very  well  knock  at  battered 
doors';  '  on  ne  frappe  pas  a  des  portes  enfoncees'  (Princess 
von  Wittgenstein  to  Belloni). 

I  did  not  know  what  to  reply,  for  I  had  never  dreamt  of 
expecting  anything  to  come  from  their  intervening  on  my 
behalf  in  that  quarter;  consequently  I  was  quite  satisfied  that 
they  sent  me  temporarily  financial  assistance.  With  this  money 
I  made  up  my  mind  to  leave  for  Zurich  and  ask  Alex  Miiller  to 
give  me  shelter  for  a  while,  as  his  house  was  sufficiently  large 
to  accommodate  a  guest.  My  saddest  moment  came  when,  after 
a  long  silence,  I  at  last  received  a  letter  from  my  wife.  She 
\  wrote  that  she  could  not  dream  of  living  with  me  again;  that 
after  I  had  so  unscrupulously  thrown  away  a  connection  and 
position,  the  like  of  which  would  never  again  present  itself  to 
me,  no  woman  could  reasonably  be  expected  to  take  any  further 
interest  in  my  future  enterprises. 

I  fully  appreciated  my  wife's  unfortunate  position ;  I  could 
in  no  way  assist  her,  except  by  advising  her  to  sell  our  Dresden 
furniture,  and  by  making  an  appeal  on  her  behalf  to  my  relatives 
in  Leipzig. 

Until  then  I  had  been  able  to  think  more  lightly  of  the 


MINNA'S   ESTRANGEMENT  511 

i  |          .1        -TTTIT-*t»__u_^^^^ 

misery  of  her  position,  simply  because  I  had  imagined  her  to 
be  more  deeply  in  sympathy  with  what  agitated  me.  Often 
during  the  recent  extraordinary  events  I  had  even  believed  that 
she  understood  my  feelings.  Now,  however,  she  had  disillu- 
sioned me  on  this  point:  she  could  see  in  me  no  more  than 
what  the  public  saw,  and  the  one  redeeming  point  of  her  severe 
judgment  was  that  she  excused  my  behaviour  on  the  score  that 
I  was  reckless.  After  I  had  begged  Liszt  to  do  what  he  could 
for  my  wife,  I  soon  began  to  regard  her  unexpected  behaviour 
with  more  equanimity.  In  reply  to  her  announcement  that 
she  would  not  write  to  me  again  for  the  present,  I  said  that  I 
had  also  resolved  to  spare  her  all  further  anxiety  about  my  very 
doubtful  fate,  by  ceasing  from  communicating  with  her.  I  sur- 
veyed the  panorama  of  our  long  years  of  association  critically 
in  my  mind's  eye,  beginning  with  that  first  stormy  year  of  our 
married  life,  that  had  been  so  full  of  sorrow.  Our  youthful 
days  of  worry  and  care  in  Paris  had  undoubtedly  been  of 
benefit  to  us  both.  The  courage  and  patience  with  which  she 
had  faced  our  difficulties,  while  I  on  my  part  had  tried  to  end 
them  by  dint  of  hard  work,  had  linked  us  together  with  bonds 
of  iron.  Minna  was  rewarded  for  all  these  privations  by 
Dresden  successes,  and  more  especially  by  the  highly  enviable 
position  I  had  held  there.  Her  position  as  wife  of  the  con- 
ductor (Frau  Kapellmeisterin)  had  brought  her  the  fulfilment 
of  her  dearest  wishes,  and  all  those  things  which  conspired  to 
make  my  work  in  this  official  post  so  intolerable  to  me,  were  to 
her  no  more  than  so  many  threats  directed  against  her  smug 
content.  The  course  I  had  adopted  with  regard  to  Tannhauser 
had  already  made  her  doubtful  of  my  success  at  the  theatres, 
and  had  robbed  her  of  all  courage  and  confidence  in  our  future. 
The  more  I  deviated  from  the  path  which  she  regarded  as  the 
only  profitable  one,  due  partly  to  the  change  of  my  views 
(which  I  grew  ever  less  willing  to  communicate  to  her),  and 
partly  to  the  modification  in  my  attitude  towards  the  stage,  the 
more  she  retreated  from  that  position  of  close  fellowship  with  me 
which  she  had  enjoyed  in  former  years,  and  which  she  thought 
herself  justified  in  connecting  in  some  way  with  my  successes. 
She  looked  upon  my  conduct  with  regard  to  the  Dresden 
catastrophe  as  the  outcome  of  this  deviation  from  the  right 


512  MY   LIFE 

path,  and  attributed  it  to  the  influence  of  unscrupulous  per- 
sons (particularly  the  unfortunate  Rockel),  who  were  sup- 
posed to  have  dragged  me  with  them  to  ruin,  by  appealing 
to  my  vanity.  Deeper  than  all  these  disagreements,  however, 
which,  after  all,  were  concerned  only  with  external  circum- 
stances, was  the  consciousness  of  our  fundamental  incom- 
patibility, which  to  me  had  become  ever  more  and  more 
apparent  since  the  day  of  our  reconciliation.  From  the  very 
beginning  we  had  had  scenes  of  the  most  violent  description; 
never  once  after  these  frequent  quarrels  had  she  admitted 
herself  in  the  wrong  or  tried  to  be  friends  again. 

The  necessity  of  speedily  restoring  our  domestic  peace,  as 
well  as  my  conviction  (confirmed  by  every  one  of  her  extrava- 
gant outbursts)  that,  in  view  of  the  great  disparity  of  our 
characters  and  especially  of  our  educations,  it  devolved  upon 
me  to  prevent  such  scenes  by  observing  great  caution  in  my 
behaviour,  always  led  me  to  take  the  entire  blame  for  what 
had  happend  upon  myself,  and  to  mollify  Minna  by  showing 
her  that  I  was  sorry.  Unfortunately,  and  to  my  intense  grief, 
I  was  forced  to  recognise  that  by  acting  in  this  way  I  lost  all 
my  po'wer  over  her  affections,  and  especially  over  her  character. 
Now  we  stood  in  a  position  in  which  I  could  not  possibly  resort 
to  the  same  means  of  reconciliation,  for  it  would  have  meant  my 
being  inconsistent  in  all  my  views  and  actions.  And  then  I 
found  myself  confronted  by  such  hardness  in  the  woman  whom 
I  had  spoilt  by  my  leniency,  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  to 
expect  her  to  acknowledge  the  injustice  done  to  myself.  Suffice 
it  to  say  that  the  wreck  of  my  married  life  had  contributed  not 
inconsiderably  to  the  ruin  of  my  position  in  Dresden,  and  to 
the  careless  manner  in  which  I  treated  it,  for  instead  of  finding 
help,  strength,  and  consolation  at  home,  I  found  my  wife 
j  unwittingly  conspiring  against  me,  in  league  with  all  the  other 
!  hostile  circumstances  which  then  beset  me.  After  I  had  got 
f  over  the  first  shock  of  her  heartless  behaviour,  I  was  absolutely 
clear  about  this.  I  remember  that  I  did  not  suffer  any  great 
sorrow,  but  that  on  the  contrary,  with  the  conviction  of  being 
now  quite  helpless,  an  almost  exalted  calm  came  over  me  when 
I  realised  that  up  to  the  present  my  life  had  been  built  on  a 
foundation  of  sand  and  nothing  more.  At  all  events,  the  fact 


MULLER'S   HOUSE   AT   ZURICH  513 

that  I  stood  absolutely  alone  did  much  towards  restoring  my 
peace  of  mind,  and  in  my  distress  I  now  found  strength  and 
comfort  even  in  the  fact  of  my  dire  poverty.  At  last  assistance 
arrived  from  Weimar.  I  accepted  it  eagerly,  and  it  was  the 
means  of  extricating  me  from  my  present  useless  life  and- 
stranded  hopes. 

My  next  move  was  to  find  a  place  of  refuge  —  one,  however, 
which  had  but  little  attraction  for  me,  seeing  that  in  it  there 
was  not  the  slightest  hope  of  my  being  able  to  make  any 
further  headway  in  the  paths  along  which  I  had  hitherto 
progressed.  This  refuge  was  Zurich,  a  town  devoid  of  all  art 
in  the  public  sense,  and  where  for  the  first  time  I  met  simple- 
hearted  people  who  knew  nothing  about  me  as  a  musician,  but 
who,  as  it  appeared,  felt  drawn  towards  me  by  the  power  of 
my  personality  alone.  I  arrived  at  Miiller's  house  and  asked 
him  to  let  me  have  a  room,  at  the  same  time  giving  him  what 
remained  of  my  capital,  namely  twenty  francs.  I  quickly 
discovered  that  my  old  friend  was  embarrassed  by  my  perfectly 
open  confidence  in  him,  and  that  he  was  at  his  wit's  end  to  know 
what  to  do  with  me.  I  soon  gave  up  the  large  room  containing 
a  grand  piano,  which  he  had  allotted  to  me  on  the  impulse  of  the 
moment,  and  retired  to  a  modest  little  bedroom.  The  meals 
were  my  great  trial,  not  because  I  was  fastidious,  but  because 
I  could  not  digest  them.  Outside  my  friend's  house,  on  the 
contrary,  I  enjoyed  what,  considering  the  habits  of  the  locality, 
was  the  most  luxurious  reception.  The  same  young  men  who 
had  been  so  kind  to  me  on  my  first  journey  through  Ziirich 
again  showed  themselves  anxious  to  be  continually  in  my 
company,  and  this  was  especially  the  case  with  one  young 
fellow  called  Jakob  Sulzer.  He  had  to  be  thirty  years  of  age 
before  he  was  entitled  to  become  a  member  of  the  Ziirich 
government,  and  he  therefore  still  had  several  years  to  wait 
In  spite  of  his  youth,  however,  the  impression  he  made  on  all 
those  with  whom  he  came  in  contact  was  that  of  a  man  of  riper 
years,  whose  character  was  formed.  When  I  was  asked  lonir 
afterwards  whether  I  had  ever  met  a  man  who,  morally 
speaking,  was  the  beau-ideal  of  real  character  and  uprightness, 
I  could,  on  reflection,  think  of  none  other  than  this  newly  gained 
friend,  Jakob  Sulzer. 


514:  MY   LIFE 

He  owed  his  early  appointment  as  permanent  Cantonal  Secre- 
tary (Staatsschreiber},  one  of  the  most  excellent  government 
posts  in  the  canton  of  Zurich,  to  the  recently  returned  liberal 
party,  led  by  Alfred  Escher.  As  this  party  could  not  employ 
the  more  experienced  members  of  the  older  conservative  side 
in  the  public  offices,  their  policy  was  to  choose  exceptionally 
gifted  young  men  for  these  positions.  Sulzer  showed  extra- 
ordinary promise,  and  their  choice  accordingly  soon  lighted  on 
"him.  He  had  only  just  returned  from  the  Berlin  and  Bonn 
universities  with  the  intention  of  establishing  himself  as 
professor  of  philology  at  the  university  in  his  native  town, 
when  he  was  made  a  member  of  the  new  government.  To  fit 
himself  for  his  post  he  had  to  stay  in  Geneva  for  six  months  to 
perfect  himself  in  the  French  language,  which  he  had  neglected 
during  his  philological  studies.  He  was  quick-witted  and 
industrious,  as  well  as  independent  and  firm,  and  he  never 
allowed  himself  to  be  swayed  by  any  party  tactics.  Conse- 
quently he  rose  very  rapidly  to  high  positions  in  the  govern- 
ment, to  which  he  rendered  valuable  and  important  services, 
first  as  Minister  of  Finance,  a  post  he  held  for  many  years,  and 
later  with  particular  distinction  as  member  of  the  School  Federa- 
tion. His  unexpected  acquaintance  with  me  seemed  to  place 
him  in  a  sort  of  dilemma;  from  the  philological  and  classical 
studies  which  he  had  entered  upon  of  his  own  choice,  he  sud- 
denly found  himself  torn  away  in  the  most  bewildering  manner 
by  this  unexpected  summons  from  the  government.  It  almost 
seemed  as  if  his  meeting  with  me  had  made  him  regret  having 
accepted  the  appointment.  As  he  was  a  person  of  great  culture, 
my  poem,  Siegfried's  Death,  naturally  revealed  to  him  my  know- 
ledge of  German  antiquity.  He  had  also  studied  this  subject, 
but  with  greater  philological  accuracy  than  I  could  possibly 
have  aspired  to.  When,  later  on,  he  became  acquainted  with 
my  manner  of  writing  music,  this  peculiarly  serious  and  reserved 
man  became  so  thoroughly  interested  in  my  sphere  of  art,  so  far 
removed  from  his  own  field  of  labour,  that,  as  he  himself  con- 
fessed, he  felt  it  his  duty  to  fight  against  these  disturbing 
influences  by  being  intentionally  brusque  and  curt  with  me. 
In  the  beginning  of  my  stay  in  Zurich,  however,  he  delighted 
in  being  led  some  distance  astray  in  the  realms  of  art.  The 


JAKOB    SULZER  515 

old-fashioned  official  residence  of  the  first  Cantonal  Secretary 
was  often  the  scene  of  unique  gatherings,  composed  of  people 
such  as  I  would  be  sure  to  attract.  It  might  even  be  said  that 
these  social  functions  occurred  rather  more  frequently  than  was 
advisable  for  the  reputation  of  a  civil  servant  of  this  little 
philistine  state.  What  attracted  the  musician  Baumgartner 
more  particularly  to  these  meetings  was  the  product  of  Sulzer's 
vineyards  in  Winterthur,  to  which  our  hosts  treated  his  guests 
with  the  greatest  liberality.  When  in  my  moods  of  mad 
exuberance  I  gave  vent  in  dithyrambic  effusions  to  my  most 
extreme  views  on  art  and  life,  my  listeners  often  responded  in  a 
manner  which,  more  often  than  not,  I  was  perfectly  right  in 
ascribing  to  the  effects  of  the  wine  rather  than  to  the  power  of 
my  enthusiasm.  Once  when  Professor  Ettmiiller,  the  Germanist 
and  Edda  scholar,  had  been  invited  to  listen  to  a  reading  of  my 
Siegfried  and  had  been  led  home  in  a  state  of  melancholy 
enthusiasm,  there  was  a  regular  outburst  of  wanton  spirits 
among  those  who  had  remained  behind.  I  conceived  the  absurd 
idea  of  lifting  all  the  doors  of  the  state  official's  house  off  their 
hinges. 

Herr  Hagenbuch,  another  servant  of  the  state,  seeing  what 
exertion  this  cost  me,  offered  me  the  help  of  his  gigantic 
physique,  and  with  comparative  ease  we  succeeded  in  removing 
every  single  door,  and  laying  it  aside,  a  proceeding  at  which 
Sulzer  merely  smiled  good-naturedly.  The  next  day,  however, 
when  we  made  inquiries,  he  told  us  that  the  replacing  of  those 
doors  (which  must  have  been  a  terrible  strain  on  his  delicate 
constitution)  had  taken  him  the  whole  night,  as  he  had  made  up 
his  mind  to  keep  the  knowledge  of  our  orgies  from  the  sergeant, 
who  always  arrived  at  a  very  early  hour  in  the  morning. 

The  extraordinary  birdlike  freedom  of  my  existence  had  the 
effect  of  exciting  me  more  and  more.  I  was  often  frightened 
at  the  excessive  outbursts  of  exaltation  to  which  I  was  prone 
—  no  matter  whom  I  was  with  —  and  which  led  me  to  indulge  in 
the  most  extraordinary  paradoxes  in  my  conversation.  Soon 
after  I  had  settled  in  Zurich  I  began  to  write  down  my  various 
ideas  about  things  at  which  I  had  arrived  through  my  private 
and  artistic  experiences,  as  well  as  through  the  influence  of  the 
political  unrest  of  the  day.  As  I  had  no  choice  but  to  try,  to 


516  MY   LIFE 

the  best  of  my  ability,  to  earn  something  by  my  pen,  I  thought 
of  sending  a  series  of  articles  to  a  great  French  journal  such  as 
the  National,  which  in  those  days  was  still  extant.  In  these 
articles  I  meant  to  propound  my  ideas  (in  my  revolutionary 
way)  on  the  subject  of  modern  art  in  its  relation  to  society. 
I  sent  six  of  them  to  an  elderly  friend  of  mine,  Albert  Franck, 
requesting  him  to  have  them  translated  into  French  and  to  get 
them  published.  This  Franck  was  the  brother  of  the  better- 
known  Hermann  Franck,  now  the  head  of  the  Franco-German 
bookselling  firm,  which  had  originally  belonged  to  my  brother- 
in-law,  Avenarius.  He  sent  me  back  my  work  with  the  very 
natural  remark  that  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  expect  the 
Parisian  public  to  understand  or  appreciate  my  articles,  especi- 
ally at  such  a  critical  moment. 

I  headed  the  manuscript  Kunst  und  Revolution  ('Art  and 
Revolution ')  and  sent  it  to  Otto  Wigand  in  Leipzig,  who 
actually  undertook  to  publish  it  in  the  form  of  a  pamphlet,  and 
sent  me  five  louis  d'or  for  it.  This  unexpected  success  induced 
me  to  continue  to  exploit  my  literary  gifts.  I  looked  among  my 
papers  for  the  essay  I  had  written  the  year  before  as  the  out- 
come of  my  historical  studies  of  the  '  Nibelungen y  legend ;  I 
gave  it  the  title  of  Die  Nibelungen  Weltgeschichte  aus  der 
Sage,  and  again  tried  my  luck  by  sending  it  to  Wigand. 

The  sensational  title  of  Kunst  und  Revolution,  as  well  as  the 
notoriety  the  '  royal  conductor '  had  gained  as  a  political 
refugee,  had  made  the  radical  publisher  hope  that  the  scandal 
that  would  arise  on  the  publication  of  my  articles  would  re- 
dound to  his  benefit!  I  soon  discovered  that  he  was  on  the 
point  of  issuing  a  second  edition  of  Kunst  und  Revolution,  with- 
out, however,  informing  me  of  the  fact.  He  also  took  over  my 
new  pamphlet  for  another  five  louis  d'or.  This  was  the  first 
time  I  had  earned  money  by  means  of  published  work,  and  I 
now  began  to  believe  that  I  had  reached  that  point  when  I 
should  be  able  to  get  the  better  of  my  misfortunes.  I  thought 
it  over,  and  decided  to  give  public  lectures  in  Zurich  on  subjects 
related  to  my  writings  during  the  coming  winter,  hoping  in 
that  free  and  haphazard  fashion  to  keep  body  and  soul  together 
for  a  little  while,  although  I  had  no  fixed  appointment  and  did 
not  intend  to  work  at  music. 


'THE   ART-WORK   OF   THE   FUTURE  >       517 

It  seemed  necessary  for  me  to  resort  to  these  means,  as  I  did 
not  know  how  otherwise  to  keep  myself  alive.  Shortly  after 
my  arrival  in  Zurich  I  had  witnessed  the  coming  of  the  frag- 
ments of  the  Baden  army,  dispersed  over  Swiss  territory,  and 
accompanied  by  fugitive  volunteers,  and  this  had  made  a  painful 
and  uncanny  impression  upon  me.  The  news  of  the  surrender 
near  Villages  by  Gorgey  paralysed  the  last  hopes  as  to  the  issue 
of  the  great  European  struggle  for  liberty,  which  so  far  had 
been  left  quite  undecided.  With  some  misgiving  and  anxiety 
I  now  turned  my  eyes  from  all  these  occurrences  in  the  outside 
world  inwards  to  my  own  soul. 

I  was  accustomed  to  patronise  the  cafe  litieraire,  where  I 
took  my  coffee  after  my  heavy  mid-day  meal,  in  a  smoky 
atmosphere  surrounded  by  a  merry  and  joking  throng  of 
men  playing  dominoes  and  '  fast.'  One  day  I  stared  at 
its  common  wall-paper  representing  antique  subjects,  which 
in  some  inexplicable  way  recalled  a  certain  water-colour  by 
Genelli  to  my  mind,  portraying  '  The  education  of  Dionysoa 
by  the  Muses.'  I  had  seen  it  at  the  house  of  my  brother- 
in-law  Brockhaus  in  my  young  days,  and  it  had  made  a  deep 
impression  on  me  at  the  time.  At  this  same  place  I  conceived 
the  first  ideas  of  my  Kunstwerk  der  Zukunft  ('  The  Art- Work 
of  the  Future'),  and  it  seemed  a  significant  omen  to  me  to 
be  roused  one  day  out  of  one  of  my  post-prandial  dreams  by 
the  news  that  Schrb'der-Devrient  was  staying  in  Zurich.  I 
immediately  got  up  with  the  intention  of  calling  on  her  at  the 
neighbouring  hotel,  '  Zum  Schwerte,'  but  to  my  great  dismay 
heard  that  she  had  just  left  by  steamer.  I  never  saw  her  again, 
and  long  afterwards  only  heard  of  her  painful  death  from  my 
wife,  who  in  later  years  became  fairly  intimate  with  her  in 
Dresden. 

After  I  had  spent  two  remarkable  summer  months  in  this 
wild  and  extraordinary  fashion,  I  at  last  received  reassuring 
news  of  Minna,  who  had  remained  in  Dresden.  Although  her 
manner  of  taking  leave  of  me  had  been  both  harsh  and  wounding, 
I  could  not  bring  myself  to  believe  I  had  completely  parted  from 
her.  In  a  letter  I  wrote  to  one  of  her  relations,  and  which  I 
presumed  they  would  forward,  I  made  sympathetic  inquiries 
about  her,  while  I  had  already  done  all  that  lay  in  my  power, 


518  MY   LIFE 

through  repeated  appeals  to  Liszt,  to  ensure  her  being  well 
cared  for.  I  now  received  a  direct  reply,  which,  in  addition  to 
the  fact  that  it  testified  to  the  vigour  and  activity  with  which 
she  had  fought  her  difficulties,  at  the  same  time  showed  me  that 
she  earnestly  desired  to  be  reunited  with  me.  It  was  almost 
in  terms  of  contempt  that  she  expressed  her  grave  doubts  as  to 
the  possibility  of  my  being  able  to  make  a  living  in  Zurich,  but 
she  added  that,  inasmuch  as  she  was  my  wife,  she  wished  to  give 
me  another  chance.  She  also  seemed  to  take  it  for  granted  that 
I  intended  making  Zurich  only  our  temporary  home,  and  that 
I  would  do  my  utmost  to  promote  my  career  as  a  composer 
of  opera  in  Paris.  Whereupon  she  announced  her  intention  of 
arriving  at  Rorschach  in  Switzerland  on  a  certain  date  in 
September  of  that  year,  in  the  company  of  the  little  dog  Peps, 
the  parrot  Papo,  and  her  so-called  sister  Nathalie.  After 
having  engaged  two  rooms  for  our  new  home,  I  now  prepared 
to  set  out  on  foot  for  St.  Gall  and  Rorschach  through  the  lovely 
and  celebrated  Toggenburg  and  Appenzell,  and  felt  very  touched 
after  all  when  the  peculiar  family,  which  consisted  half  of  pet 
animals,  landed  at  the  harbour  of  Rorschach.  I  must  honestly 
confess  that  the  little  dog  and  the  bird  made  me  very  happy. 
My  wife  at  once  threw  cold  water  on  my  emotions,  however,  by 
declaring  that  in  the  event  of  my  behaving  badly  again  she  was 
ready  to  return  to  Dresden  any  moment,  and  that  she  had 
numerous  friends  there,  who  would  be  glad  to  protect  and 
succour  her  if  she  were  forced  to  carry  out  her  threat.  Be  this 
as  it  may,  one  look  at  her  convinced  me  hc>v  greatly  she  had 
aged  in  this  short  time,  and  how  much  I  ought  to  pity  her, 
and  this  feeling  succeeded  in  banishing  all  bitterness  from  my 
heart. 

I  did  my  utmost  to  give  her  confidence  and  to  make  her 
believe  that  our  present  misfortunes  were  but  momentary. 
This  was  no  easy  task,  as  she  would  constantly  compare  the 
diminutive  aspect  of  the  town  of  Zurich  with  the  more  noble 
majesty  of  Dresden,  and  seemed  to  feel  bitterly  humiliated. 
The  friends  whom  I  introduced  to  her  found  no  favour  in  her 
eyes.  She  looked  upon  the  Cantonal  Secretary,  Sulzer,  as  a 
'  mere  town  clerk  who  would  not  be  of  any  importance  in 
Germany ' ;  and  the  wife  of  my  host  Miiller  absolutely  dis- 


OUR   NEW   HOME    IN   ZURICH  519 

gusted  her  when,  in  answer  to  Minna's  complaints  about  my 
terrible  position,  she  replied  that  my  greatness  lay  in  the  very 
fact  of  my  having  faced  it.  Then  again  Minna  appeased  me 
by  telling  me  of  the  expected  arrival  of  some  of  my  Dresden 
belongings,  which  she  thought  would  be  indispensable  to  our 
new  home. 

The  property  of  which  she  spoke  consisted  of  a  Breitkopf  and 
Hartel  grand-piano  that  looked  better  than  it  sounded,  and  of 
the  '  title-page '  of  the  Nibelungen  by  Cornelius  in  a  Gothic 
frame  that  used  to  hang  over  my  desk  in  Dresden. 

With  this  nucleus  of  household  effects  we  now  decided  to  take 
small  lodgings  in  the  so-called  '  hinteren  Escherhausern '  in  the 
Zeltweg.  With  great  cleverness  Minna  had  succeeded  in  selling 
the  Dresden  furniture  to  advantage,  and  out  of  the  proceeds  of 
this  sale  she  had  brought  three  hundred  marks  with  her  to 
Zurich  to  help  towards  setting  up  our  new  home.  She  told  me 
that  she  had  saved  my  small  but  very  select  library  for  me  by 
giving  it  into  the  safe  custody  of  the  publisher,  Heinrich  Brock- 
haus  (brother  of  my  sister's  husband  and  member  of  the  Saxon 
Diet),  who  had  insisted  upon  looking  after  it.  Great,  therefore, 
was  her  dismay  when,  upon  asking  this  kind  friend  to  send  her 
the  books,  he  replied  that  he  was  holding  them  as  security  for 
a  debt  of  fifteen  hundred  marks  which  I  had  contracted  with  him 
during  my  days  of  trouble  in  Dresden,  and  that  he  intended  to 
keep  them  until  that  sum  was  returned.  As  even  after  the 
lapse  of  many  years  I  found  it  impossible  to  refund  this  money, 
these  books,  collected  for  my  own  special  wants,  were  lost  to 
me  for  ever. 

Thanks  more  particularly  to  my  friend  Sulzer,  the  Cantonal 
Secretary,  whom  my  wife  at  first  despised  so  much  on  account 
of  his  title  which  she  misunderstood,  and  who,  although  he  was 
far  from  well-off  himself,  thought  it  only  natural  that  he  should 
help  me,  however  moderately,  out  of  my  difficulties,  we  soon 
succeeded  in  making  our  little  place  look  so  cosy  that  my  simple 
Zurich  friends  felt  quite  at  home  in  it.  My  wife,  with  all  her 
undeniable  talents,  here  found  ample  scope  in  which  to  dis- 
tinguish herself,  and  I  remember  how  ingeniously  she  made  a 
little  what-not  out  of  the  box  in  which  she  had  kindly  brought 
my  music  and  manuscript  to  Ziirich. 


520  MY   LIFE 

But  it  was  soon  time  to  think  of  how  to  earn  enough  money 
to  provide  for  us  all.  My  idea  of  giving  public  lectures  was 
treated  with  contempt  by  my  wife,  who  looked  upon  it  as  an 
insult  to  her  pride.  She  could  acquiesce  only  in  one  plan,  that 
suggested  by  Liszt,  namely,  that  I  should  write  an  opera  for 
Paris.  To  satisfy  her,  and  in  view  of  the  fact  that  I  could  see 
no  chance  of  a  remunerative  occupation  close  at  hand,  I  actu- 
ally reopened  a  correspondence  on  this  matter  with  my  great 
friend  and  his  secretary  Belloni  in  Paris.  In  the  meantime  I 
could  not  be  idle,  so  I  accepted  an  invitation  from  the  Zurich 
musical  society  to  conduct  a  classical  composition  at  one  of  their 
concerts,  and  to  this  end  I  worked  with  their  very  poor  orchestra 
at  Beethoven's  Symphony  in  A  major.  Although  the  result 
was  successful,  and  I  received  five  napoleons  for  my  trouble, 
it  made  my  wife  very  unhappy,  for  she  could  not  forget  the 
excellent  orchestra,  and  the  much  more  appreciative  public, 
which  a  short  time  before  in  Dresden  would  have  seconded  and 
rewarded  similar  efforts  on  my  part.  Her  one  and  only  ideal 
for  me  was  that,  by  hook  or  by  crook,  and  with  a  total  disregard 
of  all  artistic  scruples,  I  should  make  a  brilliant  reputation  for 
myself  in  Paris.  While  we  were  both  absolutely  at  a  loss  to 
discover  whence  we  should  obtain  the  necessary  funds  for  our 
journey  to  Paris  and  our  sojourn  there,  I  again  plunged  into 
my  philosophical  study  of  art,  as  being  the  only  sphere  still  left 
open  to  me. 

Harrassed  by  the  cares  of  a  terrible  struggle  for  existence,  I 
wrote  the  whole  of  Das  Kunstwerk  der  Zukunft  in  the  chilly 
atmosphere  of  a  sunless  little  room  on  the  ground  floor  during 
the  months  of  November  and  December  of  that  year.  Minna 
had  no  objection  to  this  occupation  when  I  told  her  of  the  suc- 
cess of  my  first  pamphlet,  and  the  hope  I  had  of  receiving  even 
better  pay  for  this  more  extensive  work. 

Thus  for  a  while  I  enjoyed  comparative  peace,  although  in 
my  heart  a  spirit  of  unrest  had  begun  to  reign,  thanks  to  my 
growing  acquaintance  with  Feuerbach's  works.  I  had  always 
had  an  inclination  to  fathom  the  depths  of  philosophy,  just  as 
I  had  been  led  by  the  mystic  influence  of  Beethoven's  Ninth 
Symphony  to  search  the  deepest  recesses  of  music.  My  first 
efforts  at  satisfying  this  longing  had  failed.  None  of  the  Leipzig 


LUDWIG   FEUERBACH  521 

professors  had  succeeded  in  fascinating  me  with  their  lectures 
on  fundamental  philosophy  and  logic.  I  had  procured 
Schelling's  work,  Transcendental  Idealism,  recommended  to  me 
by  Gustav  Schlesinger,  a  friend  of  Laube's,  but  it  was  in  vain 
that  I  racked  my  brains  to  try  and  make  something  out  of  the 
first  pages,  and  I  always  returned  to  my  Ninth  Symphony. 

During  the  latter  part  of  my  stay  in  Dresden  I  had  returned 
to  these  old  studies,  the  longing  for  which  suddenly  revived 
within  me,  and  to  these  I  added  the  deeper  historical  studies 
which  had  always  fascinated  me.  As  an  introduction  to  phil- 
osophy I  now  chose  Hegel's  Philosophy  of  History.  A  good  deal 
of  this  impressed  me  deeply,  and  it  now  seemed  as  if  I  should 
ultimately  penetrate  into  the  Holy  of  Holies  along  this  path. 
The  more  incomprehensible  many  of  his  speculative  conclusions 
appeared,  the  more  I  felt  myself  desirous  of  probing  the  question 
of  the  '  Absolute '  and  everything  connected  therewith  to  the 
core.  For  I  so  admired  Hegel's  powerful  mind  that  it  seemed 
to  me  he  was  the  very  keystone  of  all  philosophical  thought. 

The  revolution  intervened;  the  practical  tendencies  of  a 
social  reconstruction  distracted  my  attention,  and  as  I  have 
already  stated,  it  was  a  German  Catholic  priest  and  political 
agitator  (formerly  a  divinity  student  named  Menzdorff,  who 
used  to  wear  a  Calabrian  hat) *  who  drew  my  attention  to  '  the 
only  real  philosopher  of  modern  times/  Ludwig  Feuerbach. 
My  new  Zurich  friend,  the  piano  teacher,  Wilhelm  Baumgartner, 
made  me  a  present  of  Feuerbach's  book  on  Tod  und  Unster- 
Uichkeit  ('Death  and  Immortality').  The  well-known  and 
stirring  lyrical  style  of  the  author  greatly  fascinated  me  as  a 
layman.  The  intricate  questions  which  he  propounds  in  this 
book  as  if  they  were  being  discussed  for  the  first  time  by  him, 
and  which  he  treats  in  a  charmingly  exhaustive  manner,  had 
often  occupied  my  mind  since  the  very  first  days  of  my  ac- 
quaintance with  Lehrs  in  Paris,  just  as  they  occupy  the  mi  in  I 
of  every  imaginative  and  serious  man.  With  me,  however,  tins 
was  not  lasting,  and  I  had  contented  myself  with  the  poetic 
suggestions  on  these  important  subjects  which  appear  here  and 
there  in  the  works  of  our  great  poets. 

1  A  broad-rimmed,  tall,  white  felt  hat,  tapering  to  a  point,  originally  worn  by 
the  inhabitants  of  Calabria,  and  in  1848  a  sign  of  Republicanism.  —  EDITOR. 


522  MY   LIFE 

The  frankness  with  which  Feuerbach  explains  his  views  on 
these  interesting  questions,  in  the  more  mature  parts  of  his 
book,  pleased  me  as  much  by  their  tragic  as  by  their  social- 
radical  tendencies.  It  seemed  right  that  the  only  true  im- 
mortality should  be  that  of  sublime  deeds  and  great  works  of 
art.  It  was  more  difficult  to  sustain  any  interest  in  Das  Wesen 
des  Christenthums  ('  The  Essence  of  Christianity  ')  by  the  same 
author,  for  it  was  impossible  whilst  reading  this  work  not  to 
become  conscious,  however  involuntarily,  of  the  prolix  and 
unskilful  manner  in  which  he  dilates  on  the  simple  and  funda- 
mental idea,  namely,  religion  explained  from  a  purely  subjective 
and  psychological  point  of  view.  Nevertheless,  from  that  day 
onward  I  always  regarded  Feuerbach  as  the  ideal  exponent 
of  the  radical  release  of  the  individual  from  the  thraldom  of 
accepted  notions,  founded  on  the  belief  in  authority.  The 
initiated  will  therefore  not  wonder  that  I  dedicated  my  Kunst- 
werk  der  Zukunft  to  Feuerbach  and  addressed  its  preface  to  him. 

My  friend  Sulzer,  a  thorough  disciple  of  Hegel,  was  very  sorry 
to  see  me  so  interested  in  Feuerbach,  whom  he  did  not  even 
recognise  as  a  philosopher  at  all.  He  said  that  the  best  thing 
that  Feuerbach  had  done  for  me  was  that  he  had  been  the  means 
of  awakening  my  ideas,  although  he  himself  had  none.  But 
what  had  really  induced  me  to  attach  so  much  importance  to 
Feuerbach  was  the  conclusion  by  means  of  which  he  had  seceded 
from  his  master  Hegel,  to  wit,  that  the  best  philosophy  was  to 
have  no  philosophy  —  a  theory  which  greatly  simplified  what  I 
had  formerly  considered  a  very  terrifying  study  —  and  secondly, 
that  only  that  was  real  which  could  be  ascertained  by  the 
senses. 

The  fact  that  he  proclaimed  what  we  call  '  spirit '  to  be  an 
aesthetic  perception  of  our  senses,  together  with  his  statement 
concerning  the  futility  of  philosophy — these  were  the  two  things 
in  him  which  rendered  me  such  useful  assistance  in  my  con- 
ceptions of  an  all-embracing  work  of  art,  of  a  perfect  drama 
which  should  appeal  to  the  simplest  and  most  purely  human 
emotions  at  the  very  moment  when  it  approached  its  fulfilment 
as  Kunstwerk  der  Zukunft.  It  must  have  been  this  which 
Sulzer  had  in  his  mind  when  he  spoke  deprecatingly  of  Feuer- 
bach's  influence  over  me.  At  all  events,  after  a  while  I  certainly 


PLANS   FOR   PARIS  523 

could  not  return  to  his  works,  and  I  remember  that  his  newly 
published  book,  Ubcr  das  Wesen  der  Religion  ('  Lectures  on  the 
Essence  of  Religion'),  scared  me  to  such  an  extent  by  the 
dullness  of  its  title  alone,  that  when  Herwegh  opened  it  for 
my  benefit,  I  closed  it  with  a  bang  under  his  very  nose. 

At  that  time  I  was  working  with  great  enthusiasm  upon  the 
draft  of  a  connected  essay,  and  was  delighted  one  day  to  receive 
a  visit  from  the  novelist  and  Tieckian  scholar,  Eduard  von  Billow 
(the  father  of  my  young  friend  Billow),  who  was  passing 
through  Zurich.  In  my  tiny  little  room  I  read  him  my  chapter 
on  poetry,  and  could  not  help  noticing  that  he  was  greatly 
startled  at  my  ideas  on  literary  drama  and  on  the  advent  of 
the  new  Shakespeare.  I  thought  this  all  the  more  reason  why 
Wigand  the  publisher  should  accept  my  new  revolutionary  book, 
and  expected  him  to  pay  me  a  fee  which  would  be  in  proportion 
to  the  greater  size  of  the  work.  I  asked  for  twenty  lous  d'or, 
and  this  sum  he  agreed  to  pay  me. 

The  prospect  of  receiving  this  amount  induced  me  to  carry 
out  the  plan,  which  need  had  forced  upon  me,  of  travelling  to 
Paris  and  of  trying  my  luck  there  as  a  composer  of  opera. 
This  plan  had  very  serious  drawbacks;  not  only  did  I  hate  the 
idea,  but  I  knew  that  I  was  doing  an  injustice  to  myself  by 
believing  in  the  success  of  my  enterprise,  for  I  felt  that  I  could 
never  seriously  throw  myself  into  it  heart  and  soul.  Every- 
thing, however,  combined  to  make  me  try  the  experiment,  and 
it  was  Liszt  in  particular  who,  confident  of  this  being  my  only 
way  to  fame,  insisted  upon  my  reopening  the  negotiations  into 
which  Belloni  and  I  had  entered  during  the  previous  summer. 
To  show  with  what  earnestness  I  tried  to  consider  the  chances 
of  carrying  out  my  plan,  I  drafted  out  the  plot  of  the  opera, 
which  the  French  poet  would  only  have  to  put  into  verse,  be- 
cause I  never  for  a  moment  fancied  that  it  would  be  possible 
for  him  to  think  out  and  write  a  libretto  for  which  I  would  only 
.need  to  compose  the  music.  I  chose  for  my  subject  the  legend 
of  Wieland  der  Schmied,  upon  which  I  commented  with  some 
stress  at  the  end  of  my  recently  finished  Kunstwerk  der  Zukunft, 
and  the  version  of  which  by  Simrock,  taken  from  the  Wilkyna 
legend,  had  greatly  attracted  me. 

I  sketched  out  the  complete  scenario  with  precise  indication 


624  MY   LIFE 

of  the  dialogue  for  three  acts,  and  with  a  heavy  heart  decided  to 
hand  it  over  to  my  Parisian  author  to  be  worked  out.  Liszt 
thought  he  saw  a  means  of  making  my  music  known  through 
his  relations  with  Seghers,  the  musical  director  of  a  society  then 
known  as  the  *  Concerts  de  St.  Cecile.'  In  January  of  the  fol- 
lowing year  the  Tanriliauser  Overture  was  to  be  given  under  his 
baton,  and  it  therefore  seemed  advisable  that  I  should  reach 
Paris  some  time  before  this  event.  This  undertaking,  which 
appeared  to  be  so  difficult  owing  to  my  complete  lack  of  funds, 
was  at  last  facilitated  in  a  manner  quite  unexpected. 

I  had  written  home  for  help,  and  had  appealed  to  all  the  old 
friends  I  could  think  of,  but  in  vain.  By  the  family  of  my 
brother  Albert  in  particular,  whose  daughter  had  recently  entered 
upon  a  brilliant  theatrical  career,  I  was  treated  in  much  the 
same  way  as  one  treats  an  invalid  by  whom  one  dreads  to  become 
infected.  In  contrast  to  their  harshness  I  was  deeply  touched 
by  the  devotion  of  the  Hitter  family,  who  had  remained  in 
Dresden;  for,  apart  from  my  acquaintance  with  young  Karl, 
I  scarcely  knew  these  people  at  all.  Through  the  kindness  of 
my  old  friend  Heine,  who  had  been  informed  of  my  position, 
Frau  Julie  Hitter,  the  venerable  mother  of  the  family,  had 
thought  it  her  duty  to  place,  through  a  business  friend,  the 
sum  of  fifteen  hundred  marks  at  my  disposal.  At  about  the 
same  time  I  received  a  letter  from  Mme.  Laussot,  who  had 
called  upon  me  in  Dresden  the  year  before,  and  who  now  in 
the  most  affecting  terms  assured  me  of  her  continued  sympathy. 

These  were  the  first  signs  of  that  new  phase  in  my  life  upon 
which  I  entered  from  this  day  forth,  and  in  which  I  accustomed 
myself  to  look  upon  the  outward  circumstances  of  my  existence 
as  being  merely  subservient  to  my  will.  And  by  this  means 
I  was  able  to  escape  from  the  hampering  narrowness  of  my 
home  life. 

For  the  moment  the  proffered  financial  assistance  was  very 
distasteful  to  me,  for  it  seemed  to  forbid  my  raising  any  further 
objections  to  the  realisation  of  the  detested  Paris  schemes. 
When,  however,  on  the  strength  of  this  favourable  change  in 
my  affairs,  I  suggested  to  my  wife  that  we  might,  after  all, 
content  ourselves  with  remaining  in  Ziirich,  she  flew  into  the 
most  violent  passion  over  my  weakness  and  lack  of  spirit,  and 


DEPARTURE   FOR   PARIS  625 

declared  that  if  I  did  not  make  up  my  mind  to  achieve  some- 
thing in  Paris,  she  would  lose  all  faith  in  me.  She  said,  more- 
over, that  she  absolutely  refused  to  be  a  witness  of  my  misery 
and  grief  as  a  wretched  literary  man  and  insignificant  con- 
ductor of  local  concerts  in  Zurich. 

We  had  entered  upon  the  year  1850 ;  I  had  decided  to  go  to 
Paris,  if  only  for  the  sake  of  peace^  but  had  to  postpone  my 
journey  on  account  of  ill-health.  The  reaction  following  upon 
the  terrible  excitement  of  recent  times  had  not  failed  to  have 
its  effect  on  my  overwrought  nerves,  and  a  state  of  complete 
exhaustion  had  followed.  The  continual  colds,  in  spite  of  which 
I  had  been  obliged  to  work  in  my  very  unhealthy  room,  had 
at  last  given  rise  to  alarming  symptoms.  A  certain  weakness 
of  the  chest  became  apparent,  and  this  the  doctor  (a  political 
refugee)  undertook  to  cure  by  the  application  of  pitch  plasters. 
As  the  result  of  this  treatment  and  the  irritating  effect  it  had 
upon  my  nerves,  I  lost  my  voice  completely  for  a  while ;  where- 
upon I  was  told  that  I  must  go  away  for  a  change.  On  going 
out  to  buy  my  ticket  for  the  journey,  I  felt  so  weak  and  broke 
out  into  such  terrible  perspiration  that  I  hastened  to  return 
to  my  wife  in  order  to  consult  her  as  to  the  advisability,  in 
the  circumstances,  of  abandoning  the  idea  of  the  expedition 
altogether.  She,  however,  maintained  (and  perhaps  rightly) 
not  only  that  my  condition  was  not  dangerous,  but  that  it  was 
to  a  large  extent  due  to  imagination,  and  that,  once  in  the  right 
place,  I  would  soon  recover. 

An  inexpressible  feeling  of  bitterness  stimulated  my  nerves 
as  in  anger  and  despair  I  quickly  left  the  house  to  buy  the 
confounded  ticket  for  the  journey,  and  in  the  beginning  of 
February  I  actually  started  on  the  road  to  Paris.  I  was  filled 
with  the  most  extraordinary  feelings,  but  the  spark  of  hope 
which  was  then  kindled  in  my  breast  certainly  had  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  the  belief  that  had  been  imposed  upon  me  from 
without,  that  I  was  to  make  a  success  in  Paris  as  a  composer 
of  operas. 

I  was  particularly  anxious  to  find  quiet  rooms,  for  peace  had 
now  become  my  first  necessity,  no  matter  where  I  happened  to 
be  staying.     The  cabman  v/ho  drove  me  from  street  to  8 
through  the  most  isolated  quarters,  and  whom  I  at  last  accused 


526  MY   LIFE 

of  keeping  always  to  the  most  animated  parts  of  the  city,  finally 
protested  in  despair  that  one  did  not  come  to  Paris  to  live  in  a 
convent.  At  last  it  occurred  to  me  to  look  for  what  I  wanted 
in  one  of  the  cites  through  which  no  vehicle  seemed  to  drive,  and 
I  decided  to  engage  rooms  in  the  Cite  de  Provence. 

True  to  the  plans  which  had  been  forced  upon  me,  I  at  once 
called  on  Herr  Seghers  about  the  performance  of  the  Tannliduser 
Overture. 

It  turned  out  that  in  spite  of  my  late  arrival  I  had  missed 
nothing,  for  they  were  still  racking  their  brains  as  to  how  to 
procure  the  necessary  orchestral  parts. 

I  therefore  had  to  write  to  Liszt,  asking  him  to  order  the 
copies,  and  had  to  wait  for  their  arrival.  Belloni  was  not  in 
town,  things  were  therefore  at  a  standstill,  and  I  had  plenty  of 
time  to  think  over  the  object  of  my  visit  to  Paris,  while  an 
unceasing  accompaniment  was  poured  out  to  my  meditations 
by  the  barrel-organs  which  infest  the  cites  of  Paris. 

I  had  much  difficulty  in  convincing  an  agent  of  the  govern- 
ment, from  whom  I  received  a  visit  soon  after  my  arrival,  that 
my  presence  in  Paris  was  due  to  artistic  reasons,  and  not  to  my 
doubtful  position  as  a  political  refugee. 

Fortunately  he  was  impressed  by  the  score,  which  I  showed 
him,  as  well  as  by  Liszt's  article  on  the  Tannhduser  Overture, 
written  the  year  before  in  the  Journal  des  Debats,  and  he  left 
me,  politely  inviting  me  to  continue  my  avocations  peacefully 
and  industriously,  as  the  police  had  no  intention  of  disturbing 
me. 

I  also  looked  up  my  older  Parisian  acquaintances.  At  the 
hospitable  house  of  Desplechins  I  met  Semper,  who  was  trying 
to  make  his  position  as  tolerable  as  possible  by  writing  some 
inferior  artistic  work.  He  had  left  his  family  in  Dresden,  from 
which  town  we  soon  received  the  most  alarming  news.  The 
prisons  were  gradually  filling  there  with  the  unfortunate  vic- 
tims of  the  recent  Saxon  movement.  Of  Rockel,  Bakunin,  and 
Heubner,  all  we  could  hear  was  that  they  had  been  charged 
with  high  treason,  and  that  they  were  awaiting  the  death 
sentence. 

In  view  of  the  tidings  which  continually  arrived  concerning 
the  cruelty  and  brutality  with  wjiich  the  soldiers  treated  the 


KIETZ   AND   ANDERS  527 

prisoners,  we  could  not  help  considering  our  own  lot  a  very 
happy  one. 

My  intercourse  with  Semper,  whom  I  saw  frequently,  was 
generally  enlivened  by  a  gaiety  which  was  occasionally  of  rather 
a  risky  nature;  he  was  determined  to  rejoin  his  family  in 
London,  where  the  prospect  of  various  appointments  was  open 
to  him.  My  latest  attempts  at  writing,  and  the  thoughts  ex- 
pressed in  my  work,  interested  him  greatly,  and  gave  rise  to 
animated  conversations  in  which  we  were  joined  by  Kietz,  who 
was  at  first  amusing,  but  evidently  boring  Semper  considerably. 
I  found  the  former  in  the  identical  position  in  which  I  had 
left  him  many  years  ago:  he  had  made  no  headway  with  his 
painting,  and  would  have  been  glad  if  the  revolution  had  taken 
a  more  decided  turn,  so  that,  under  cover  of  the  general  con- 
fusion, he  might  have  escaped  from  his  embarrassing  position 
with  his  landlord.  He  made  at  this  time  quite  a  good  pastel 
portrait  of  me  in  his  very  best  and  earliest  style.  While  I  was 
sitting  I  unfortunately  spoke  to  him  about  my  Das  Kunstwerk 
der  Zukunft,  and  thereby  laid  the  foundation  for  him  of  troubles 
that  lasted  many  years,  as  he  tried  to  instil  my  new  ideas  into 
the  Parisian  bourgeoisie  at  whose  tables  he  had  hitherto  been 
a  welcome  guest.  Notwithstanding,  he  remained  as  of  old  a 
good,  obliging,  true-hearted  fellow,  and  even  Semper  could  not 
help  putting  up  with  him  cheerfully.  I  also  looked  up  my 
friend  Anders.  It  was  a  difficult  matter  to  find  him  at  any 
hour  of  the  day,  since  out  of  sleeping  hours  he  was  closeted  in 
the  library,  where  he  could  receive  no  one,  and  afterwards  retired 
to  the  reading-room  to  spend  his  hours  of  rest,  and  generally 
went  to  dine  with  certain  bourgeois  families  where  he  gave 
music  lessons.  He  had  aged  considerably,  but  I  was  glad  to 
find  him,  comparatively  speaking,  in  better  health  than  the 
state  in  which  I  had  last  seen  him  had  allowed  me  to  hope,  as 
when  I  left  Paris  before  he  had  seemed  to  be  in  a  decline. 
Curiously  enough,  a  broken  leg  had  been  the  means  of  improving 
his  health,  the  treatment  necessary  for  it  having  taken  him  to 
a  hydro,  where  his  condition  had  much  improved.  His  one  idea 
was  to  see  me  achieve  a  great  success  in  Paris,  and  he  wished 
to  secure  a  seat  in  advance  for  the  first  performance  of  my 
opera,  which  he  took  for  granted  was  to  appear,  and  kept  re- 


528  MY   LIFE 

peating  that  it  would  be  so  very  trying  for  him  to  occupy  a 
place  in  any  part  of  the  theatre  where  there  would  be  likely  to 
be  a  crush.  He  could  not  see  the  use  of  my  present  literary 
work;  in  spite  of  this  I  was  again  engaged  on  it  exclusively, 
as  I  soon  ascertained  there  was  no  likelihood  of  my  overture 
to  Tanrihauser  being  produced.  Liszt  had  shown  the  greatest 
zeal  in  obtaining  and  forwarding  the  orchestral  parts ;  but  Herr 
Seghers  informed  me  that  as  far  as  his  own  orchestra  was  con- 
cerned, he  found  himself  in  a  republican  democracy  where  each 
instrument  had  an  equal  right  to  voice  its  opinion,  and  it  had 
been  unanimously  decided  that  for  the  remainder  of  the  winter 
season,  which  was  now  drawing  to  a  close,  my  overture  could 
be  dispensed  with.  I  gathered  enough  from  this  turn  of  affairs 
to  realise  how  precarious  my  position  was. 

It  is  true,  the  result  of  my  writings  was  hardly  less  discour- 
aging. A  copy  of  the  Wigand  edition  of  my  KunstwerTc  der 
Zukunft  was  forwarded  to  me  full  of  horrible  misprints,  and 
instead  of  the  expected  remuneration  of  twenty  louis  d'or,  my 
publisher  explained  that  for  the  present  he  could  only  pay  me 
half  this  sum,  as,  owing  to  the  fact  that  at  first  the  sale  of  the 
Kunst  und  Revolution  had  been  very  rapid,  he  had  been  led  to 
attach  too  high  a  commercial  value  to  my  writings,  a  mistake 
he  had  speedily  discovered  when  he  found  there  was  no  demand 
for  Die  Nibelungen. 

On  the  other  hand,  I  received  an  offer  of  remunerative  work 
from  Adolph  Kolatsche*k,  who  was  also  a  fugitive,  and  was  just 
going  to  bring  out  a  German  monthly  journal  as  the  organ 
of  the  progressive  party.  In  response  to  this  invitation  I  wrote 
a  long  essay  on  Kunst  und  Klima  ('Art  and  Climate'),  in 
which  I  supplemented  the  ideas  I  had  already  touched  upon 
in  my  Kunstwerk  der  Zukunft.  Besides  this  I  had,  since  my 
arrival  in  Paris,  worked  out  a  more  complete  sketch  of  Wieland 
der  Schmied.  It  is  true  that  this  work  had  no  longer  any  value, 
and  I  wondered  with  apprehension  what  I  could  write  home  to 
my  wife,  now  that  the  last  precious  remittance  had  been  so 
aimlessly  sacrificed.  The  thought  of  returning  to  Zurich  was 
as  distasteful  to  me  as  the  prospect  of  remaining  any  longer 
in  Paris.  My  feelings  with  regard  to  the  latter  alternative  were 
intensified  by  the  impression  made  upon  me  by  Meyerbeer's 


MEYERBEER'S    'PROPHET'  629 

opera  The  Prophet,  which  had  just  been  produced  and  which 
I  had  not  heard  before.  Rearing  itself  on  the  ruins  of  the  hopes 
for  new  and  more  noble  endeavour  which  had  animated  the 
better  works  of  the  past  year  —  the  only  result  of  the  negotia- 
tions of  the  provisional  French  republic  for  the  encouragement 
of  art  —  I  saw  this  work  of  Meyerbeer's  break  upon  the  world 
like  the  dawn  heralding  this  day  of  disgraceful  desolation.  I 
was  so  sickened  by  this  performance,  that  though  I  was  unfortu- 
nately placed  in  the  centre  of  the  stalls  and  would  willingly 
have  avoided  the  disturbance  necessarily  occasioned  by  one  of 
the  audience  moving  during  the  middle  of  an  act,  even  this 
consideration  did  not  deter  me  from  getting  up  and  leaving  the 
house.  When  the  famous  mother  of  the  prophet  finally  gives 
vent  to  her  grief  in  the  well-known  series  of  ridiculous  roulades, 
I  was  filled  with  rage  and  despair  at  the  thought  that  I  should 
be  called  upon  to  listen  to  such  a  thing,  and  never  again  did  I 
pay  the  slightest  heed  to  this  opera. 

But  what  was  I  to  do  next?  Just  as  the  South  American 
republics  had  attracted  me  during  my  first  miserable  sojourn 
in  Paris,  so  now  my  longing  was  directed  towards  the  East, 
where  I  could  live  my  life  in  a  manner  worthy  of  a  human 
being  far  away  from  this  modern  world.  While  I  was  in  this 
frame  of  mind  I  was  called  upon  to  answer  another  inquiry  as 
to  my  state  of  health  from  Mme.  Laussot  in  Bordeaux.  It 
turned  out  that  my  answer  prompted  her  to  send  me  a  kind 
and  pressing  invitation  to  go  and  stay  at  her  house,  at  least  for 
a  short  time,  to  rest  and  forget  my  troubles.  In  any  circum- 
stances an  excursion  to  more  southerly  regions,  which  I  had  not 
yet  seen,  and  a  visit  to  people  who,  though  utter  strangers, 
showed  such  friendly  interest  in  me,  could  not  fail  to  prove 
attractive  and  flattering.  I  accepted,  settled  my  affairs  in  Puri-, 
and  went  by  coach  via  Orleans,  Tours,  and  Angouleme,  down 
the  Gironde  to  the  unknown  town,  where  I  was  received  \\iili 
great  courtesy  and  cordiality  by  the  young  wine  merchant  Eugene 
Laussot,  and  presented  to  my  sympathetic  young  friend,  his  \vi  fc. 
A  closer  acquaintance  with  the  family,  in  which  Mrs.  Taylor, 
Mme.  Laussot's  mother,  was  now  also  include"!,  led  to  a  clearer 
understanding  of  the  character  of  the  sympathy  bestowed  upon 
me  in  such  a  cordial  and  unexpected  manner  by  people  hit!. 


530  MY   LIFE 

unknown  to  me.  Jessie,  as  the  young  wife  was  called  at  home, 
had,  during  a  somewhat  lengthy  stay  in  Dresden,  become  very 
intimate  with  the  Bitter  family,  and  I  had  no  reason  to  doubt 
the  assurance  given  me,  that  the  Laussots'  interest  in  me  and  my 
work  was  principally  owing  to  this  intimacy.  After  my  flight 
from  Dresden,  as  soon  as  the  news  of  my  difficulties  had  reached 
the  Hitters,  a  correspondence  had  been  carried  on  between  Dres- 
den and  Bordeaux  with  a  view  to  ascertaining  how  best  to 
assist  me.  Jessie  attributed  the  whole  idea  to  Frau  Julie  Hitter 
who,  while  not  being  well  enough  off  herself  to  make  me  a  suffi- 
cient allowance,  was  endeavouring  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  Jessie's  mother,  the  well-to-do  widow  of  an  English  lawyer, 
whose  income  entirely  supported  the  young  couple  in  Bordeaux. 
This  plan  had  so  far  succeeded,  that  shortly  after  my  arrival 
in  Bordeaux  Mrs.  Taylor  informed  me  that  the  two  families 
had  combined,  and  that  it  had  been  decided  to  ask  me  to 
accept  the  help  of  three  thousand  francs  a  year  until  the 
return  of  better  days.  My  one  object  now  was  to  enlighten 
my  benefactors  as  to  the  exact  conditions  under  which  I 
should  be  accepting  such  assistance.  I  could  no  longer  reckon 
upon  achieving  any  success  as  a  composer  of  opera  either  in 
Paris  or  elsewhere;  what  line  I  should  take  up  instead  I 
did  not  know;  but,  at  all  events,  I  was  determined  to  keep 
myself  free  from  the  disgrace  which  would  reflect  upon  my 
whole  life  if  I  used  such  means  as  this  offer  presented  to 
secure  success.  I  feel  sure  I  am  not  wrong  in  believing  that 
Jessie  was  the  only  one  who  understood  me,  and  though  I 
only  experienced  kindness  from  the  rest  of  the  family,  I  soon 
discovered  the  gulf  by  which  she,  as  well  as  myself,  was 
separated  from  her  mother  and  husband.  While  the  husband, 
who  was  a  handsome  young  man,  was  away  the  greater  part 
of  the  day  attending  to  his  business,  and  the  mother's  deafness 
excluded  her  to  a  great  extent  from  our  conversations,  we  soon 
discovered  by  a  rapid  exchange  of  ideas  that  we  shared  the 
same  opinions  on  many  important  matters,  and  this  led  to  a 
great  feeling  of  friendship  between  us.  Jessie,  who  was  at 
that  time  about  twenty-two,  bore  little  resemblance  to  her 
mother,  and  no  doubt  took  after  her  father,  of  whom  I  heard 
most  flattering  accounts.  A  large  and  varied  collection  of  books 


JESSIE    LAUSSOT  531 

left  by  this  man  to  his  daughter  showed  his  tastes,  for  besides 
carrying  on  his  lucrative  profession  as  a  lawyer,  he  had  devoted 
himself  to  the  study  of  literature  and  science.  From  him 
Jessie  had  also  learned  German  as  a  child,  and  she  spoke  that 
language  with  great  fluency.  She  had  been  brought  up  on 
Grimm's  fairy-tales,  and  was,  moreover,  thoroughly  acquainted 
with  German  poetry,  as  well  as  with  that  of  England  and 
France,  and  her  knowledge  of  them  was  as  thorough  as  the  most 
advanced  education  could  demand.  French  literature  did  not 
appeal  to  her  much.  Her  quick  powers  of  comprehension  were 
astonishing.  Everything  which  I  touched  upon  she  immediately 
grasped  and  assimilated.  It  was  the  same  with  music:  she 
read  at  sight  with  the  greatest  facility,  and  was  an  accomplished 
player.  During  her  stay  in  Dresden  she  had  been  told  that  I 
was  still  in  search  of  the  pianist  who  could  play  Beethoven's 
great  Sonata  in  B  flat  major,  and  she  now  astonished  me  by 
her  finished  rendering  of  this  most  difficult  piece.  The  emotion 
aroused  in  me  by  finding  such  an  exceptionally  developed  talent 
suddenly  changed  to  anxiety  when  I  heard  her  sing.  Her 
sharp,  shrill  voice,  in  which  there  was  strength  but  no  real 
depth  of  feeling,  so  shocked  me  that  I  could  not  refrain  from 
begging  her  to  desist  from  singing  in  future.  With  regard  to 
the  execution  of  the  sonata,  she  listened  eagerly  to  my  instruc- 
tions as  to  how  it  should  be  interpreted,  though  I  could  not 
feel  that  she  would  succeed  in  rendering  it  according  to  my 
ideas.  I  read  her  my  latest  essays,  and  she  seemed  to  under- 
stand even  the  most  extraordinary  descriptions  perfectly.  My 
poem  on  Siegfried's  Tod  moved  her  deeply,  but  she  preferred 
my  sketch  of  Wieland  der  Schmied.  She  admitted  aftcrwanls 
that  she  would  prefer  to  imagine  herself  filling  the  role  of 
Wieland's  worthy  bride  than  to  find  herself  in  the  position  and 
forced  to  endure  the  fate  of  Gutrune  in  Siegfried.  It  follow. I 
inevitably  that  the  presence  of  the  other  members  of  the  family 
proved  embarrassing  when  we  wanted  to  talk  over  and  discuss 
these  various  subjects.  If  we  felt  somewhat  troubled  at  having 
to  confess  to  ourselves  that  Mrs.  Taylor  would  certainly  never 
be  able  to  understand  why  I  was  being  offered  assistance,  I  was 
still  more  disconcerted  at  realising  after  a  time  the  complHo 
want  of  harmony  between  the  young  couple,  particularly  from 


532  MY   LIFE 

an  intellectual  point  of  view.  The  fact  that  Laussot  had 
for  some  time  been  well  aware  of  his  wife's  dislike  for  him 
was  plainly  shown  when  he  one  day  so  far  forgot  himself 
as  to  complain  loudly  and  bitterly  that  she  would  not  even 
love  a  child  of  his  if  she  had  one,  and  that  he  therefore  thought 
it  fortunate  that  she  was  not  a  mother.  Astonished  and  sad- 
dened, I  suddenly  gazed  into  an  abyss  which  was  hidden  here, 
as  is  often  the  case,  under  the  appearance  of  a  tolerably  happy 
married  life.  About  this  time,  and  just  as  my  visit,  which 
had  already  lasted  three  weeks,  was  drawing  to  a  close,  I  re- 
ceived a  letter  from  my  wife  that  could  not  have  had  a  more 
unfortunate  effect  on  my  state  of  mind.  She  was,  on  the 
whole,  pleased  at  my  having  found  new  friends,  but  at  the 
same  time  explained  that  if  I  did  not  immediately  return  to 
Paris,  and  there  endeavour  to  secure  the  production  of  my 
overture  with  the  results  anticipated,  she  would  not  know 
what  to  think  of  me,  and  would  certainly  fail  to  understand  me 
if  I  returned  to  Zurich  without  having  effected  my  purpose. 
At  the  same  time  my  depression  was  intensified  in  a  terrible 
way  by  a  notice  in  the  papers  announcing  that  Rockel,  Bakunin, 
and  Heubner  had  been  sentenced  to  death,  and  that  the  date 
of  their  execution  was  fixed.  I  wrote  a  short  but  stirring  letter 
of  farewell  to  the  two  first,  and  as  I  saw  no  possibility  of  having 
it  conveyed  to  the  prisoners,  who  were  confined  in  the  fortress 
of  Konigstein,  I  decided  to  send  it  to  Frau  von  Liittichau,  to 
be  forwarded  to  them  by  her,  because  I  thought  she  was  the 
only  person  in  whose  power  it  might  lie  to  do  this  for  me, 
while  at  the  same  time  she  had  sufficient  generosity  and  inde- 
pendence of  mind  to  enable  her  to  respect  and  carry  out  my 
wishes,  in  spite  of  any  possible  difference  of  opinion  she  might 
entertain.  I  was  told  some  time  afterwards  that  Liittichau 
had  got  hold  of  the  letter  and  thrown  it  into  the  fire.  For  the 
time  being  this  painful  impression  helped  me  to  the  determina- 
tion to  break  with  every  one  and  everything,  to  lose  all  desire 
to  learn  more  of  life  or  of  art,  and,  even  at  the  risk  of  having 
to  endure  the  greatest  privations,  to  trust  to  chance  and  put 
myself  beyond  the  reach  of  everybody.  The  small  income 
settled  upon  me  by  my  friends  I  wished  to  divide  between 
myself  and  my  wife,  and  with  my  half  go  to  Greece  or  Asia 


JESSIE   LAUSSOT  r,:,., 

Minor,  and  there,  Heaven  alone  knew  how,  seek  to  forget  and 
be  forgotten.  I  communicated  this  plan  to  the  only  confidante 
I  had  left  to  me,  chiefly  in  order  that  she  might  be  able  to 
enlighten  my  benefactors  as  to  how  I  intended  disposing  of 
the  income  they  had  offered  me.  She  seemed  pleased  with  the 
idea,  and  the  resolve  to  abandon  herself  to  the  same  fate  seemed 
to  her  also,  in  her  resentment  against  her  position,  to  be  quite 
an  easy  matter.  She  expressed  as  much  by  hints  and  a  word 
dropped  here  and  there.  Without  clearly  realising  what  it 
would  lead  to,  and  without  coming  to  any  understanding  with 
her,  I  left  Bordeaux  towards  the  end  of  April,  more  excited 
than  soothed  in  spirit,  and  filled  with  regret  and  anxiety.  I 
returned  to  Paris,  for  the  time  being,  stunned  and  full  of  un- 
certainty as  to  what  to  do  next.  Feeling  very  unwell,  exhausted, 
and  at  the  same  time  excited  from  want  of  sleep,  I  reached  my 
destination  and  put  up  at  the  Hotel  Valois,  where  I  remained 
a  week,  struggling  to  gain  my  self-control  and  to  face  my 
strange  position.  Even  if  I  had  wished  to  resume  the  plans 
which  had  been  instrumental  in  bringing  me  to  Paris,  I  soon 
convinced  myself  that  little  or  nothing  could  be  done.  I  was 
filled  with  distress  and  anger  at  being  called  upon  to  waste 
my  energies  in  a  direction  contrary  to  my  tastes,  merely  to 
satisfy  the  unreasonable  demands  made  upon  me.  I  was  at 
length  obliged  to  answer  my  wife's  last  pressing  communi- 
cation, and  wrote  her  a  long  and  detailed  letter  in  which  I 
kindly,  but  at  the  same  time  frankly,  retraced  the  whole  of  our 
life  together,  and  explained  that  I  was  fully  determined  to  set 
her  free  from  any  immediate  participation  in  my  fate,  as  I  felt 
quite  incapable  of  so  arranging  it  so  as  to  meet  with  her 
approval.  I  promised  her  the  half  of  whatever  means  I  should 
have  at  my  disposal  now  or  in  the  future,  and  told  her  she  must 
accept  this  arrangement  with  a  good  grace,  because  the  occasion 
had  now  arisen  to  take  that  step  of  parting  from  me  which, 
on  our  first  meeting  again  in  Switzerland,  she  had  declared 
herself  ready  to  do.  I  ended  my  letter  without  bidding  her 
a  final  farewell.  I  thereupon  wrote  to  Bordeaux  immediately 
to  inform  Jessie  of  the  step  I  had  taken,  though  my  means  did 
not  as  yet  allow  of  my  forming  any  definite  plan  which  I 
could  communicate  to  her  for  my  complete  flight  from  the 


534:  MY   LIFE 

world.  In  return  she  announced  that  she  was  determined  to 
do  likewise,  and  asked  for  my  protection,  under  which  she 
intended  to  place  herself  when  once  she  had  set  herself  free. 
Much  alarmed,  I  did  all  in  my  power  to  make  her  realise  that 
it  was  one  thing  for  a  man,  placed  in  such  a  desperate  situation 
as  myself,  to  cut  himself  adrift  in  the  face  of  insurmountable 
difficulties,  but  quite  another  matter  for  a  young  woman,  at 
least  to  all  outward  appearances,  happily  settled,  to  decide  to 
break  up  her  home,  for  reasons  which  probably  no  one  except 
myself  would  be  in  a  position  to  understand.  Regarding  the 
unconventionality  of  her  resolve  in  the  eyes  of  the  world,  she 
assured  me  that  it  would  be  carried  out  as  quietly  as  possible, 
and  that  for  the  present  she  merely  thought  of  arranging  to 
visit  her  friends  the  Hitters  in  Dresden.  I  felt  so  upset  by  all 
this  that  I  yielded  to  my  craving  for  retirement,  and  sought  it 
at  no  great  distance  from  Paris.  Towards  the  middle  of  April 
I  went  to  Montmorency,  of  which  I  had  heard  many  agreeable 
accounts,  and  there  sought  a  modest  hiding-place.  "With  great 
difficulty  I  dragged  myself  to  the  outskirts  of  the  little  town, 
where  the  country  still  bore  a  wintry  aspect,  and  turned  into 
the  little  strip  of  garden  belonging  to  a  wine  merchant,  which 
was  filled  with  visitors  only  on  Sundays,  and  there  refreshed 
myself  with  some  bread  and  cheese  and  a  bottle  of  wine.  A 
crowd  of  hens  surrounded  me,  and  I  kept  throwing  them  pieces 
of  bread,  and  was  touched  by  the  self-sacrificing  abstemiousness 
with  which  the  cock  gave  all  to  his  wives  though  I  aimed  par- 
ticularly at  him.  They  became  bolder  and  bolder,  and  finally 
flew  on  to  the  table  and  attacked  my  provisions ;  the  cock  flew 
after  them,  and  noticing  that  everything  was  topsy-turvy, 
pounced  upon  the  cheese  with  the  eagerness  of  a  craving  long 
unsatisfied.  When  I  found  myself  being  driven  from  the  table 
by  this  chaos  of  fluttering  wings,  I  was  filled  with  a  gaiety 
to  which  I  had  long  been  a  stranger.  I  laughed  heartily,  and 
looked  round  for  the  signboard  of  the  inn.  I  thereby  dis- 
covered that  my  host  rejoiced  in  the  name  of  Homo.  This 
seemed  a  hint  from  Fate,  and  I  felt  I  must  seek  shelter  here 
at  all  costs.  An  extraordinarily  small  and  narrow  bedroom 
was  shown  me,  which  I  immediately  engaged.  Besides  the 
bed  it  held  a  rough  table  and  two  cane-bottomed  chairs.  I 


MINNA   COMES   TO   PARIS  535 

arranged  one  of  these  as  a  washhand-stand,  and  on  the  table  I 
placed  some  books,  writing  materials,  and  the  score  of  Lohen- 
grin, and  almost  heaved  a  sigh  of  content  in  spite  of  my  ex- 
tremely cramped  accommodation.  .  Though  the  father  re- 
mained uncertain  and  the  woods  with  their  leafless  trees  did 
not  seem  to  offer  the  prospect  of  very  enticing  walks,  I  still 
felt  that  here  there  was  a  possibility  of  my  being  forgotten, 
and  being  also  in  my  turn  allowed  to  forget  the  events  that 
had  lately  filled  me  with  such  desperate  anxiety.  My  old 
artistic  instinct  awoke  again.  I  looked  over  my  Lohengrin 
score,  and  quickly  decided  to  send  it  to  Liszt  and  leave  it  to 
him  to  bring  it  out  as  best  he  could.  Now  that  I  had  got  rid 
of  this  score  also,  I  felt  as  free  as  a  bird  and  as  careless  as 
Diogenes  about  what  might  befall  me.  I  even  invited  Kietz  to 
come  and  stay  with  me  and  share  the  pleasures  of  my  retreat. 
He  did  actually  come,  as  he  had  done  during  my  stay  in 
Meudon;  but  he  found  me  even  more  modestly  installed  than 
I  had  been  there.  He  was  quite  prepared  to  take  pot-luck,  how- 
ever, and  cheerfully  slept  on  an  improvised  bed,  promising  to 
keep  the  world  in  touch  with  me  upon  his  return  to  Paris.  I 
was  suddenly  startled  from  my  state  of  complacency  by  the  news 
that  my  wife  had  come  to  Paris  to  look  me  up.  I  had  an  hour's 
painful  struggle  with  myself  to  settle  the  course  I  should  pur- 
sue, and  decided  not  to  allow  the  step  I  had  taken  in  regard  to 
her  to  be  looked  upon  as  an  ill-considered  and  excusable  vagary. 
I  left  Montmorency  and  betook  myself  to  Paris,  summoned 
Kietz  to  my  hotel,  and  instructed  him  to  tell  my  wife,  who 
had  already  been  trying  to  gain  admittance  to  him,  that  he 
knew  nothing  more  of  me  except  that  I  had  left  Paris.  The 
poor  fellow,  who  felt  as  much  pity  for  Minna  as  for  me,  was 
so  utterly  bewildered  on  this  occasion,  that  he  declared  that  he 
felt  as  though  he  were  the  axis  upon  which  all  the  misery  in 
the  world  turned.  But  he  apparently  realised  the  significance 
and  importance  of  my  decision,  as  it  was  necessary  he  should, 
and  acquitted  himself  in  this  delicate  matter  with  intelligence 
and  good  feeling.  That  night  I  left  Paris  by  train  for  Clennont- 
Tonnerre,  from  whence  I  travelled  on  to  Geneva,  there  to  await 
news  from  Frau  Bitter  in  Dresden.  My  exhaustion  was  such 
that,  even  had  I  possessed  the  necessary  means,  I  could  not  as 


536  MY   LIFE 

yet  have  contemplated  undergoing  the  fatigue  of  a  long  journey. 
By  way  of  gaining  time  for  further  developments  I  retired  to 
Villeneuve,  at  the  other  end  of  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  where  I 
put  up  at  the  Hotel  Byron,  which  was  quite  empty  at  the  time. 
Here  I  learned  that  Karl  Hitter  had  arrived  in  Zurich,  as  he 
said  he  would,  with  the  intention  of  paying  me  a  visit.  Impress- 
ing upon  him  the  necessity  for  the  strictest  secrecy,  I  invited 
him  to  join  me  at  the  Lake  of  Geneva,  and  in  the  second  week 
in  May  we  met  at  the  Hotel  Byron.  The  characteristic  which 
pleased  me  in  him  was  his  absolute  devotion,  his  quick  compre- 
hension of  my  position  and  the  necessity  of  my  resolutions,  as 
well  as  his  readiness  to  submit  without  question  to  all  my 
arrangements,  even  where  he  himself  was  concerned.  He  was 
full  of  my  latest  literary  efforts,  told  me  what  an  impression 
they  had  made  on  his  acquaintances,  and  thereby  induced  me 
to  spend  the  few  days  of  rest  I  was  enjoying  in  preparing  my 
poem  of  Siegfried's  Tod  for  publication. 

I  wrote  a  short  preface  dedicating  this  poem  to  my  friends  as 
a  relic  of  the  time  when  I  had  hoped  to  devote  myself  entirely 
to  art,  and  especially  to  the  composition  of  music.  I  sent  this 
manuscript  to  Herr  Wigand  in  Leipzig,  who  returned  it  to  me 
after  some  time  with  the  remark,  that  if  I  insisted  on  its  being 
printed  in  Latin  characters  he  would  not  be  able  to  sell  a  single 
copy  of  it.  Later  on  I  discovered  that  he  deliberately  refused 
to  pay  me  the  ten  louis  d'or  due  to  me  for  Das  Kunsiwerk  der 
Zukunft,  which  I  had  directed  him  to  send  to  my  wife.  Dis- 
appointing as  all  this  was,  I  was  nevertheless  unable  to  engage 
in  any  further  work,  as  only  a  few  days  after  Karl's  arrival  the 
realities  of  life  made  themselves  felt  in  an  unexpected  manner, 
most  upsetting  to  my  tranquillity  of  mind.  I  received  a  wildly 
excited  letter  from  Mme.  Laussot  to  tell  me  that  she  had  not 
been  able  to  resist  telling  her  mother  of  her  intentions,  that 
in  so  doing  she  had  immediately  aroused  the  suspicion  that 
I  was  to  blame,  and  in  consequence  of  this  her  disclosure  had 
been  communicated  to  M.  Laussot,  who  vowed  he  would  search 
everywhere  for  me  in  order  to  put  a  bullet  through  my 
body.  The  situation  was  clear  enough,  and  I  decided  to  go  to 
Bordeaux  immediately  in  order  to  come  to  an  understanding 
with  my  opponent  I  at  once  wrote  fully  to  M.  Eugene, 


JOURNEY    TO   BORDEAUX  537 

endeavouring  to  make  him  see  matters  in  their  true  light,  but 
at  the  same  time  declared  myself  incapable  of  understanding 
how  a  man  could  bring  himself  to  keep  a  woman  with  him  by 
force,  when  she  no  longer  wished  to  remain.  I  ended  by  inform- 
ing him  that  I  should  reach  Bordeaux  at  the  same  time  as  my 
letter,  and  immediately  upon  my  arrival  there  would  let  him 
know  at  what  hotel  to  find  me;  also  that  I  would  not  tell  his 
wife  of  the  step  I  was  taking,  and  that  he  could  consequently 
act  without  restraint.  I  did  not  conceal  from  him,  what  indeed 
was  the  fact,  that  I  was  undertaking  this  journey  under  great 
difficulties,  as  under  the  circumstances  I  considered  it  impossible 
to  wait  to  have  my  passport  endorsed  by  the  French  envoy. 
At  the  same  time  I  wrote  a  few  lines  to  Mme.  Laussot,  exhorting 
her  to  be  calm  and  self-possessed,  but,  true  to  my  purpose, 
refrained  from  even  hinting  at  any  movement  on  my  part 
(When,  years  afterwards,  I  told  Liszt  this  story,  he  declared 
I  had  acted  very  stupidly  in  not  telling  Mme.  Laussot  of  my 
intentions.)  I  took  leave  of  Karl  the  same  day,  in  order  to  set 
out  next  morning  from  Geneva  on  my  tedious  journey  across 
France.  But  I  was  so  exhausted  by  all  this  that  I  could  not 
help  thinking  I  was  going  to  die.  That  same  night  I  wrote  to 
Frau  Hitter  in  Dresden,  to  this  effect,  giving  her  a  short  account 
of  the  incredible  difficulties  I  had  been  drawn  into.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  I  suffered  great  inconvenience  at  the  French 
frontier  on  account  of  my  passport;  I  was  made  to  give  my 
exact  place  of  destination,  and  it  was  only  upon  my  assuring 
them  that  pressing  family  affairs  required  my  immediate 
presence,  that  the  authorities  showed  exceptional  leniency  and 
allowed  me  to  proceed. 

I  travelled  by  Lyons  through  Auvergne  by  stage-coach  for 
three  days  and  two  nights,  till  at  length  I  reached  Bordeaux. 
It  was  the  middle  of  May,  and  as  I  surveyed  the  town  from  a 
height  at  early  dawn  I  saw  it  lit  up  by  a  fire  that  had  broken 
out.  I  alighted  at  the  Hotel  Quatre  Soaurs,  and  at  once  sent 
a  note  to  M.  Laussot,  informing  him  that  I  held  myself  at 
his  disposal  and  would  remain  in  all  day  to  receive  him. 
was  nine  o'clock  in  the  morning  when  I  sent  him  this  message. 
I  waited  in  vain  for  an  answer,  till  at  last,  late  in  the  after- 
noon, I  received  a  summons  from  the  police-station  to  present 


538  MY    LIFE 

myself  immediately.  There  I  was  first  of  all  asked  whether  my 
passport  was  in  order.  I  acknowledged  the  difficulty  I  found 
myself  in  with  regard  to  it,  and  explained  that  family  matters 
had  necessitated  my  placing  myself  in  this  position. 

I  was  thereupon  informed  that  precisely  this  family  matter, 
which  had  no  doubt  brought  me  there,  was  the  cause  of  their 
having  to  deny  me  the  permission  to  remain  in  Bordeaux  any 
longer.  In  answer  to  my  question,  they  did  not  conceal  the 
fact  that  these  proceedings  against  me  were  being  carried  out 
at  the  express  wish  of  the  family  concerned.  This  extraordinary 
revelation  immediately  restored  my  good-humour.  I  asked  the 
police  inspector  whether,  after  such  a  trying  journey,  I  might 
not  be  allowed  a  couple  of  days'  rest  before  returning;  this 
request  he  readily  granted,  and  told  me  that  in  any  case  there 
could  be  no  chance  of  my  meeting  the  family  in  question,  as 
they  had  left  Bordeaux  at  mid-day.  I  used  these  two  days  to 
recover  from  my  fatigue,  and  also  wrote  a  letter  to  Jessie,  in 
which  I  told  her  exactly  what  had  taken  place,  without  con- 
cealing my  contempt  at  the  behaviour  of  her  husband,  who 
could  expose  his  wife's  honour  by  a  denunciation  to  the  police. 
I  also  added  that  our  friendship  could  certainly  not  continue 
until  she  had  released  herself  from  so  humiliating  a  position. 
The  next  thing  was  to  get  this  letter  safely  delivered.  The 
information  furnished  me  by  the  police  officials  was  not  suffi- 
cient to  enlighten  me  as  to  what  had  exactly  taken  place  in 
the  Laussot  family,  whether  they  had  left  home  for  some  length 
of  time  or  merely  for  a  day,  so  I  simply  made  up  my  mind  to 
go  to  their  house.  I  rang  the  bell  and  the  door  sprang  open; 
without  meeting  any  one  I  walked  up  to  the  first-floor  flat, 
the  door  of  which  stood  open,  and  went  from  room  to  room  till 
I  reached  Jessie's  boudoir,  where  I  placed  my  letter  in  her 
work-basket  and  returned  the  way  I  had  come.  I  received  no 
reply,  and  set  out  upon  my  return  journey  as  soon  as  the  term 
of  rest  granted  me  had  expired.  The  fine  May  weather  had  a 
cheering  effect  upon  me,  and  the  clear  water,  as  well  as  the 
agreeable  name  of  the  Dordogne,  along  whose  banks  the  post- 
chaise  travelled  for  some  distance,  gave  me  great  pleasure. 

I  was  also  entertained  by  the  conversation  of  two  fellow- 
travellers,  a  priest  and  an  officer,  about  the  necessity  of  putting 


GENEVA  r,;;«) 

an  end  to  the  French'  Republic.  The  priest  showed  liin^df 
much  more  humane  and  broad-minded  than  his  military  in- 
terlocutor, who  could  only  repeat  the  one  refrain,  *  II  faut  en 
finir.'  I  now  had  a  look  at  Lyons,  and  in  a  walk  round  the 
town  tried  to  recall  the  scenes  in  Lamartine's  Histoire  des 
Girondins,  where  he  so  vividly  describes  the  siege  and  surrender 
of  the  town  during  the  period  of  the  Convention  Nationale. 
At  last  I  arrived  at  Geneva,  and  returned  to  the  Byron  hotel, 
where  Karl  Bitter  was  awaiting  me.  During  my  absence  he  had 
heard  from  his  family,  who  wrote  very  kindly  concerning  me. 
His  mother  had  at  once  reassured  him  as  to  my  condition,  and 
pointed  out  that  with  people  suffering  from  nervous  disorders 
the  idea  of  approaching  death  was  a  frequent  symptom,  and 
that  there  was  consequently  no  occasion  to  feel  anxious  about 
me.  She  also  announced  her  intention  of  coming  to  visit  ua 
in  Villeneuve  with  her  daughter  Emilie  in  a  few  days'  time. 
This  news  made  me  take  heart  again;  this  devoted  family,  so 
solicitous  for  my  welfare,  seemed  sent  by  Providence  to  lead 
me,  as  I  so  longed  to  be  led,  to  a  new  life.  Both  ladies  arrived 
in  time  to  celebrate  my  thirty-seventh  birthday  on  the  twenty- 
second  of  May.  The  mother,  Frau  Julie,  particularly  made  a 
deep  impression  upon  me.  I  had  only  met  her  once  before  in 
Dresden,  when  Karl  had  invited  me  to  be  present  at  the  per- 
formance of  a  quartette  of  his  own  composition,  given  at  his 
mother's  house.  On  this  occasion  the  respect  and  devotion 
shown  me  by  eadi  member  of  the  family  had  delighted  me. 
The  mother  had  hardly  spoken  to  me,  but  when  I  was  leaving 
she  was  moved  to  tears  as  she  thanked  me  for  my  visit  I  was 
unable  to  understand  her  emotion  at  the  time,  but  now  when 
I  reminded  her  of  it  she  was  surprised,  and  explained  that  she 
had  felt  so  touched  at  my  unexpected  kindness  to  her  son. 

She  and  her  daughter  remained  with  us  about  a  week.  We 
sought  diversion  in  excursions  to  the  beautiful  Valais,  but  did 
not  succeed  in  dispelling  Frau  Hitter's  sadness  of  heart,  caused 
by  the  knowledge  of  recent  events  of  which  she  had  now  been 
informed,  as  well  as  by  her  anxiety  at  the  course  my  life  was 
taking.  As  I  afterwards  learned,  it  had  cost  the  kMBfOM, 
delicate  woman  a  great  effort  to  undertake  this  jmirn.-v,  nn-I 
when  I  urged  her  to  leave  her  house  to  come  and  srttl.-  in 


540  MY   LIFE 

Switzerland  with  her  family,  so  that  we  might  all  be  united, 
she  at  last  pointed  out  to  me  that  in  proposing  what  seemed 
to  her  such  an  eccentric  undertaking,  I  was  counting  upon  a 
strength  and  energy  she  no  longer  possessed.  For  the  present 
she  commended  her  son,  whom  she  wished  to  leave  with  me, 
to  my  care,  and  gave  me  the  necessary  means  to  keep  us  both 
for  the  time  being.  Regarding  the  state  of  her  fortune,  she 
told  me  that  her  income  was  limited,  and  now  that  it  was 
impossible  to  accept  any  help  from  the  Laussots,  she  did  not 
know  how  she  would  be  able  to  come  to  my  assistance  sufficiently 
to  assure  my  independence.  Deeply  moved,  we  took  leave  of 
this  venerable  woman  at  the  end  of  a  week,  and  she  returned  to 
Dresden  with  her  daughter,  and  I  never  saw  her  again. 

Still  bent  upon  discovering  a  means  of  disappearing  from  the 
world,  I  thought  of  choosing  a  wild  mountain  spot  where  I  could 
retire  with  Karl.  For  this  purpose  we  sought  the  lonely  Yisper 
Thai  in  the  canton  Valais,  and  not  without  difficulty  made  our 
way  along  the  impracticable  roads  to  Zermatt.  There,  at  the 
foot  of  the  colossal  and  beautiful  Matterhorn,  we  could  indeed 
consider  ourselves  cut  off  from  the  outer  world.  I  tried  to 
make  things  as  comfortable  as  I  could  in  this  primitive  wilder- 
ness, but  discovered  only  too  soon  that  Karl  could  not  recon- 
cile himself  to  his  surroundings.  Even  on  the  second  day  he 
owned  that  he  thought  it  horrid,  and  suggested  that  it  would 
be  more  pleasant  in  the  neighbourhood  of  one  of  the  lakes. 
We  studied  the  map  of  Switzerland,  and  chose  Thun  for  our 
next  destination.  Unfortunately  I  again  found  myself  re- 
duced to  a  state  of  extreme  nervous  fatigue,  in  which  the  slight- 
est effort  produced  a  profuse  and  weakening  perspiration.  Only 
by  the  greatest  strength  of  will  was  I  able  to  make  my  way 
out  of  the  valley;  but  at  last  we  reached  Thun,  and  with  re- 
newed courage  engaged  a  couple  of  modest  but  cheerful  rooms 
looking  out  on  to  the  road,  and  proposed  to  wait  and  see  how 
we  should  like  it.  In  spite  of  the  reserve  which  still  betrayed 
his  shyness  of  character,  I  found  conversation  with  my  young 
friend  always  pleasant  and  enlivening.  I  now  realised  the 
pitch  of  fluent  and  overflowing  vivacity  to  which  the  young 
man  could  attain,  particularly  at  night  before  retiring  to 
rest,  when  he  would  squat  down  beside  my  bed,  and  in  the 


FAMILY   CABAL   AT   BORDEAUX  541 

agreeable,  pure  dialect  of  the  German  Baltic  provinces,  give 
free  expression  to  whatever  had  excited  his  interest  I  was 
exceedingly  cheered  during  these  days  by  the  perusal  of  the 
Odyssey,  which  I  had  not  read  for  so  long  and  which  had 
fallen  into  my  hands  by  chance.  Homer's  long-suffering  hero, 
always  homesick  yet  condemned  to  perpetual  wandering,  and 
always  valiantly  overcoming  all  difficulties,  was  strangely  sym- 
pathetic to  me.  Suddenly  the  peaceful  state  I  had  scarcely  yet 
entered  upon  was  disturbed  by  a  letter  which  Karl  received  from 
Mme.  Laussot.  He  did  not  know  whether  he  ought  to  show  it 
to  me,  as  he  thought  Jessie  had  gone  mad.  I  tore  it  out  of  his 
hand,  and  found  she  had  written  to  say  that  she  felt  obliged 
to  let  my  friend  know  that  she  had  been  sufficiently  enlightened 
about  me  to  make  her  drop  my  acquaintance  entirely.  I  after- 
wards discovered,  chiefly  through  the  help  of  Frau  Hitter,  that 
in  consequence  of  my  letter  and  my  arrival  in  Bordeaux,  M. 
Laussot,  together  with  Mrs.  Taylor,  had  immediately  taken 
Jessie  to  the  country,  intending  to  remain  there  until  the  news 
was  received  of  my  departure,  to  accelerate  which  he  had  applied 
to  the  police  authorities.  While  they  were  away,  and  without 
telling  her  of  my  letter  and  my  journey,  they  had  obtained 
a  promise  from  the  young  woman  to  remain  quiet  for  a  year, 
give  up  her  visit  to  Dresden,  and,  above  all,  to  drop  all  corre- 
spondence with  me;  since,  under  these  conditions,  she  was 
promised  her  entire  freedom  at  the  end  of  that  time,  she  had 
thought  it  better  to  give  her  word.  Not  content  with  this, 
however,  the  two  conspirators  had  immediately  set  about 
calumniating  me  on  all  sides,  and  finally  to  Mme.  Laussot 
herself,  saying  that  I  was  the  initiator  of  this  plan  of  elope- 
ment. Mrs.  Taylor  had  written  to  my  wife  complaining  of 
my  intention  to  commit  adultery,  at  the  same  time  expressing 
her  pity  for  her  and  offering  her  support;  the  unfortunate 
Minna,  who  now  thought  she  had  found  a  hitherto  unsuspected 
reason  for  my  resolve  to  remain  separated  from  her,  wrote 
back  complaining  of  me  to  Mrs.  Taylor.  The  meaning  of  an 
innocent  remark  I  had  once  made  had  been  strangely  mis- 
interpreted, and  matters  were  now  aggravated  by  making  it 
appear  as  though  I  had  intentionally  lied.  In  the  course  of 
playful  conversation  Jessie  had  once  told  me  that  she  belonged 


542  MY   LIFE 

to  no  recognised  form  of  religion,  her  father  having  been  a 
member  of  a  certain  sect  which  did  not  baptise  either  according 
to  the  Protestant  or  the  Roman  Catholic  ritual;  whereupon 
I  had  comforted  her  by  assuring  her  that  I  had  come  in  contact 
with  much  more  questionable  sects,  as  shortly  after  my  marriage 
in  Konigsberg  I  had  learned  that  it  had  been  solemnised  by 
a  hypocrite.  God  alone  knows  in  what  form  this  had  been 
repeated  to  the  worthy  British  matron,  but,  at  all  events,  she 
told  my  wife  that  I  had  said  I  was  '  not  legally  married  to 
her/  In  any  case,  my  wife's  answer  to  this  had  no  doubt 
furnished  further  material  with  which  to  poison  Jessie's  mind 
against  me,  and  this  letter  to  my  young  friend  was  the  result. 
I  must  admit  that,  seen  by  this  light,  the  circumstance  at 
which  I  felt  most  indignant  was  the  way  my  wife  had  been 
treated,  and  while  I  was  perfectly  indifferent  as  to  what  the 
rest  of  the  party  thought  of  me,  I  immediately  accepted  Karl's 
offer  to  go  to  Zurich  and  see  her,  so  as  to  give  her  the  explanation, 
necessary  to  her  peace  of  mind.  While  awaiting  his  return, 
I  received  a  letter  from  Liszt,  telling  me  of  the  deep  impression 
made  upon  him  by  my  Lohengrin  score,  which  had  caused  him 
to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  the  future  in  store  for  me.  He  at 
the  same  time  announced  that,  as  I  had  given  him  the  permission 
to  do  so,  he  intended  doing  all  in  his  power  to  bring  about  the 
production  of  my  opera  at  the  forthcoming  Herder  festival  in 
Weimar.  About  this  time  I  also  heard  from  Frau  Hitter,  who, 
in  consequence  of  events  of  which  she  was  well  aware>  thought 
herself  called  upon  to  beg  me  not  to  take  the  matter  too  much 
to  heart.  At  this  moment  Karl  also  returned  from  Zurich,  and 
spoke  with  great  warmth  of  my  wife's  attitude.  Not  having 
found  me  in  Paris,  she  had  pulled  herself  together  with  re- 
markable energy,  and  in  pursuance  of  an  earlier  wish  of  mine, 
had  rented  a  house  on  the  lake  of  Zurich,  installed  herself 
comfortably,  and  remained  there  in  the  hope  of  at  last  hearing 
from  me  again.  Besides  this,  he  had  much  to  tell  me  of  Sulzer'a 
good  sense  and  friendliness,  the  latter  having  stood  by,  my  wife 
and  shown  her  great  sympathy.  In  the  midst  of  his  narrative 
Karl  suddenly  exclaimed,  '  Ah !  these  could  be  called  sensible 
people;  but  with  such  a  mad  Englishwoman  nothing  could  be 
'done/  To  all  this  I  said  not  a  word,  but  finally  with  a  smile 


ZURICH   ONCE   MORE  543 

asked  him  whether  he  would  like  to  go  over  to  Zurich?  I IV 
sprang  up  exclaiming,  '  Yes,  and  as  soon  as  possible.'  '  You 
shall  have  your  way,'  said  I ;  Met  us  pack.  I  can  see  no  sense 
in  anything  either  here  or  there.'  Without  breathing  another 
syllable  about  all  that  had  happened,  we  left  the  next  day  for 
Zurich. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


>     1971 
#1971 

REC'D  MU*Df 

1971 
JAN  6    1972 

|?f»2 
AN 


051997 


Form  L9-116m-8,'62(D1237s8)444 


Music 
Library 

ML 

410 

VT1W14E 

T.I 


BM ICOONM.  1«WIT  FMUTV 


